


Are you scared, too?

by ParadiseFalls03



Series: Green, Red and other shades of youth [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys' Love, Building a relationship, Falling In Love, Fanart, Fear, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hope, M/M, Multi, POV Draco Malfoy, Self-Discovery, a little fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-05-31 05:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 46,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19419217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseFalls03/pseuds/ParadiseFalls03
Summary: AND IT’S DONE!!!!time to celebrate and throw my virtual pen in the bin! Epilogue is up too!PS: only in the first few chapters there will be stuff taken from the books.Draco was not afraid. Or maybe he was. But Potter was too, and that, somehow, made it ok.A journey of self discovery, starting in sixth year, to find oneself and get a little lost in the way. But that was ok too. Because there was a safety line to grip, even if it was an unexpected one, and it was strong enough to keep him on the surface.A story of a boy discoverying his feelings trough his fear and a strange, new kinship.The work contains some art as well, mixed messily in between the chapters (check me out on tumblr as inconsequentialmania for some more art ❤️)





	1. A boy at Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, people.  
> So, this is my attempt at drarry. I am not english so please excuse my errors. I did try my best and maybe one day i will find a beta to correct my writing. It’s also my first attempt at writing, but I am an illustrator and I needed to work on this for future use. Also, my pregnacy had me crave for Potter and not weird food, so when the books finished and I couldn’t re-read them for the 100 time and the Cursed child (pardon me) sucks, i kind of fell into the fandom and I’ve started reading like crazy. And, oh my, there is a lot of sex. Which is not my kind of thing, unfortunately, not sex but writing about it. So, this fiction will not contain sex, i am sorry and i hope you will still give it a chance.  
> This story is my idea of Draco, and how he could have started having feeling for Harry. But its also a story of despair, so it wont be fluff and love (until the end). Anyhow, Harry will appear at some point and he is my idea of harry post war. I am babbling. So, here it is, hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Also, i own nothing but my twisted mind, so JKR all this is yours and i hope you forgive me for giving Draco a chance

Draco stared at his reflection. His worn-out reflection; grey skin and sunken eyes, just a ghost of his former self. A 16 years old walking bomb, all nervous ticks and paranoia, ready to implode on himself. He felt claustrophobic in his own skin, his once fitted clothes feeling constricting despite the bagginess. He pulled at his tie, a snake around his pale neck, too tight, suffocating, no room to breath. He needed air. His eyes in the mirror were pleading. His father’s eyes people said all the time, but his father’s were always so composed, superior, disdainful. “Not afraid, Draco, never afraid”. He felt the wet trail of tears on his cheeks more than saw them, the world had suddenly gone blurry, out of focus. He needed to act, do something out of character, freeing. He had always been a showman, gloating in the spotlight, in the attention and admiration, but this year he had to be discreet, and he hated it. He wanted to run naked, screaming, to see people looking at him as if he was as mad as he felt, fear in their eyes. He wanted to run, full stop. He was running out of time and he was scared.  
  
“It’s ok to be scared” a voice behind him made him jump and it took him a moment to understand where he was. Scared, he was just thinking that. No one should know, it was an honour, his mission, he was chosen at 16 for something no older or more experienced wizards were entrusted. An honour, to cherish and to be proud of, not scared. No one should know, but the voice knew. A familiar voice, Draco thought, not Myrtle’s. He froze, his eyes focusing again on the mirror and on Potter standing behind him.  
  
He dragged his shirt sleeves furiously on his cheeks, blinking a few times to clear his vision and felt the rage bubbling up in his stomach. Not fear, rage. Not fear, hate. For the first time in weeks, not fear. He whirled around, finger brushing his wand so suddenly that his brain didn’t completely register the movement of his arm before it was fully stretched in front of him, ready to damage. Potter stood there, just a couple of steps inside the bathroom and looked at him with a strange calmness, missing the ever-present air of disgust they normally reserved for each other. Draco’s guessed that the righteous Gryffindor in Potter didn’t allow him such emotions in front of a man crying, even one he hated, and this thought made his fury blaze stronger.  
  
“Don’t come and play mates with me, Potter” he spat, voice dripping with venom and wand arm straightening slightly.  
  
To his surprise, Potter gave a short humourless laugh, a wide open mouth thing, canines bare and pointy. Wild predator teeth in a human boy’s face, Draco thought a bit bewildered.  
  
“Oh, come off it, Malfoy.” Potter said, bringing him back to earth. “I am not trying to be your friend, I honestly don’t like you. You are an arrogant bastard at your best”  
  
“When you are finished with your praise, I don’t need your fucking pity either.” Draco interrupted, his skin crawling with barely repressed emotions. He needed to act, needed Potter’s face under his fists.  
  
The other boy looked at him in the eyes, serious and hard.  
  
“I’m not pitying you, I don’t pity someone for crying. I can relate” he paused “I am scared too”.  
  
Draco’s eyes widened. You are? He wanted to ask, but he heard his voice replying “I am not scared” instead, his usual sneer in place.  
  
“Whatever you need to sleep at night” Potter scoffed, and Draco’s wondered why he hadn’t hexed him yet, but still he found himself stalling. “Listen, whichever way we were thrown into this, some of us more willingly than others” The other wizard continued, looking pointedly at him and making his arm tremble “this thing is bigger than us. I am sixteen, I should be worrying about Quidditch and whatever else stupid teenagers do, but I am scared. And when I saw Ced. . .” his voice wobbled “People dying, I found out it was ok to be”  
  
Draco was speechless, wondering what pushed Potter to tell him, of all people, something like that. He always mocked the other boy for his fears, knowing deep inside it was to cover the evidence of his bravery, and surely Potter would know he would use such a confession to ridicule him. Except this time you won’t, his mind supplied, and he nodded numbly.  
  
He shook his head to get rid of the feeling and he glanced up again. The other wizard was regarding him curiously, an eyebrow raised.  
  
“Anyway,” Potter added, his voice suddenly tired, “Whatever you are doing, I hope it’s worth it” and he turned around and left.  
  
Draco stared and the vacated space for a long moment, feeling a free-fall of emotions. He had been furious at Potter, for assuming, for feeling so self important to believe Draco wanted to hear what he had to say, but Potter had said he was scared too. Potter, the boy that didn’t need to work for attention, the boy that jumped into near-death situations like his brain couldn’t really grip the concept of danger, the boy that to Draco’s chagrin survived circumstances that older and better wizards wouldn’t, was scared. Somehow, that validated Draco’s fear too, and for the first time from the beginning of his task he felt less alone.  
  
It was a long time before he left the bathroom, cheeks dry and high.

Potter was one to act, Draco thought a few weeks after the bathroom encounter. Potter was scared but he acted anyway. He had found himself comparing with Potter more than once in the last few days, quite often, if he was being honest, and he found it reassuring.  
  
Was it worth it, Potter had asked. Maybe. The other wizard wouldn’t have agreed, but that was beyond the point, there was just too much at stake. There was no backing out and Draco needed all his concentration and abilities to complete the task. If Potter knew he had been the motivation that pushed Draco to finally fix that blasted cabinet he would have been horrified, and the thought was strangely not as satisfying as it should have. Draco reasoned that the sudden lingering of guilt in his stomach was due to the fact that wherever his loyalties laid he didn’t really want to kill anyone. Not for the first time he thought about what Potter said about being sixteen and thinking about silly, inconsequential things, and his left arm itched in response. As much as it was for Potter, that was not an option, and Draco had never craved simply being young more.  
  
“Harmonia Nectere Passus” he whispered, almost fearfully, and his wand sent a bluish spark. The door of the cabinet rattled. Draco reached for the cage that stood on a dusty desk on his right and freed a little bird, a robin, clasping it gently between his cupped hands. The bird chirped and Draco looked at it for the last time with a pained grimace and proceed to shut the door, trapping it inside the cabinet. Images of Katie Bell and Ron Weasley’s red hair flooded his mind and with a mixture of hope and despair he muttered the incantation. The chirping stopped abruptly and after a few minutes, or maybe seconds, the door opened again. There it was, minuscule, a broken thing, and the silence was deafening. Draco stared at the little red chest, unmoving, and for a long moment all he could see was red. The bird’s heart shaped spot of vivid colour, so lively in death, Weasley’s orangey locks and his face heating violently in confrontation, cheeks flaming red. Even Weasley, the personification of red, with his clashing hair and skin and Gryffindor colours, would look pale in death, Draco thought. His doing, almost his doing. The blood, pounding in his veins, burning around the Mark, red too. Blood that would be spilling soon, once his plan was completed. Not his, hopefully not his, but did it matter? He stared at the bird until it was only a red blur, and he felt terrified, but that didn’t matter either. The cabinet was ready, and it was time. With the last bit of sanity he felt left, he sent his thoughts to Potter, willing him to stay in bed.

“Expelliarmus” he heard his voice shouting and to his surprise the disarming spell worked.  
  
Dumbledore stood in front of him, dignified and poised even while looking like a drained old man. A year-long effort, coming to an end, whatever that was going to be. Did he have it in him? Draco knew the answer was no, and it felt strangely good, despite the implications. No, although, was not the right answer and Draco thought of his beautiful mother and tried to deny it. Tried to own to the task he so willingly and proudly and stupidity accepted what felt like a lifetime ago. He had to do it, this man in front of him, this wizard even the Dark Lord feared, looked like he was dying, anyway. He is a nutter, powerful but mad, and worthless and old, and honestly not looking too healthy, he chanted in his head. His mother wasn’t old, and she was worth it, Potter said it had to be worth it. And it was, but was it enough to murder? To take a life? He thought randomly of Potter’s mother. He had seen a picture of her, by chance, in his third year and to his surprise she was beautiful, too, like his mother, and so, so young. Her large, green and expressive eyes were so caring and loving, and mesmerised he had found himself thinking about what it would have been to lose someone like that. Unsettled, he had proceeded to taunt Potter about it. The thought was sickening, the love for his own mother twisting his insides with guilt. Lily Evans had died because it was worth it, would he be able to kill for the same reason?  
  
“Good evening, Draco” Dumbledore’s voice was gentle, shooting. No, no, no Draco screamed in his head. Please, don’t be kind, I have to do this, make it easy, please.  
  
His eyes were caught by the presence of a second broom next to the Headmaster, and his heart gave a panicked thud. “Who else is here?” He asked. Dumbledore twisted his question and he felt himself answering, trying to put an inflection of proudness into his voice at the scheme he concocted.  
  
Dumbledore sounded mildly impressed and Draco felt his confidence raising. “Right under your nose and you never realised!” He taunted.  
  
They discussed the Death Eaters entering the castle and Draco thought he might as well get to the point “I have a job to do”.  
  
The Headmaster didn’t sound surprised in the slightest and he looked right at him with a small smile  
  
“Draco, Draco you are not a killer”  
  
No, no, no, don’t tell me what I am, you know nothing, Draco thought, I have to do this.  
  
“How do you know?” He felt childish, like throwing a tantrum, and tried to compose himself, “You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’m capable of” he spat, trying to sound assured.  
  
Dumbledore, however, called his bluff, seemingly knowing all the struggles Draco had endured during the year, all the horrible things he had almost done. “Maybe your heart wasn’t really in it”  
  
Outraged and panicked Draco tried to deny it “It was. I worked all year on this and tonight...”. A yell from below dragged his mind back to the battle happening beneath them, and the blood that could be spilling thanks to him. Because of him.  
  
Dumbledore reminded him of his job, pointing out being defenceless and prodded him to proceed, sounding unafraid. Was he actually so confident in his innocence?  
  
“I see” he said, kindly “you are afraid to act until they join you”  
  
There it was, his fear slammed in his face, not unlike Potter did. Not hidden, deep inside him, but out in the open. To be dealt with. He was angry at being caught out.  
  
“I am not afraid” he snarled, wand raised but the curse wouldn’t come. “it’s you that ought to be scared”.  
  
“But why? I don’t think you will kill me Draco” and he sounded so sure Draco wanted to believe him, so he found himself answering the questions about the cabinet, stalling for time, or maybe for a way out.  
  
“A clever plan, a very clever plan... and as you said it, under my nose” Draco felt oddly comforted by the praise, but then the fear came back when the Headmaster listed his unsuccessful attempts and assured him to have been aware of his plan all along. Fear and something like doubt, at the mentioning of Professor Snape. Draco had been irritated by the professor’s meddling in his business and he wanted to snort derisively at the old man conviction of Snape’s loyalty, but the fierce tone in Dumbledore voice stopped him. Snape? He didn’t have time to think about it.  
  
The conversation dragged on, all his work unravelling in front of him, making him nauseated by what he had accomplished and what was still left to do. “You care about me saying Mudblood when I am about to kill you?” The whole idea sounded stupid, concentrating on something so righteous on a moment like this, when surely nothing mattered but trying to survive.  
  
“Yes, I do” Dumbledore replied calmly, even when his body seemed to give up a little and he slumped further down, looking tired and worn. “As for being about to kill me, Draco. We have been here, quite alone, for long moments and I am defenceless. Still, you have not acted”  
  
Draco could not deny it, and he grimaced.  
  
They talked about the night events further when Dumbledore fixed him with a stern gaze, eyes firm but caring.  
  
“One way or another, there is little time. Lets us discuss your options, Draco.”  
  
“My options!” Draco said, loudly. “I’m standing here with a wand — I’m about to kill you —”  
  
“My dear boy, let us have no more pretence about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means.”  
  
The truth was painful, and Draco couldn’t bear the implications.  
  
“I haven’t got any options!” He said, and he was suddenly feeling faint. “I’ve got to do it! He’ll kill me! He’ll kill my whole family!”  
  
“I appreciate the difficulty of your position,” said Dumbledore. “Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew that you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort realized that I suspected you.”  
  
Draco winced at the sound of the name.  
  
“I did not dare speak to you of the mission with which I knew you had been entrusted, in case he used Legilimency against you,” continued Dumbledore. “But now at last we can speak plainly to each other. . . . No harm has been done, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims survived. . . . I can help you, Draco.”  
  
No, no, no you can’t.  
  
“No, you can’t,” Draco replied, his wand hand shaking very badly. “Nobody can. He told me to do it or he’ll kill me. I’ve got no choice.”  
  
His heart was surely going to explode, he thought, while his mind unhelpfully pleaded: yes, please, help me, please. You can’t, but please find the way.  
  
“Come over to the right side, Draco, and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother tonight to hide her likewise. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban. . . . When the time comes, we can protect him too. Come over to the right side, Draco . . . you are not a killer. . . .”  
  
Draco could only stare at Dumbledore.  
  
“But I got this far, didn’t I?” he said slowly. “They thought I’d die in the attempt, but I’m here . . . and you’re in my power. . . . I’m the one with the wand. . . . You’re at my mercy. . . .” He tried again, in an attempt to regain the upper hand, some kind of control.  
  
“No, Draco,” said Dumbledore quietly. “It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now.”  
  
Yes, Draco thought, and felt his wand arm lowering slightly.  
  
Then, it happened. Voices and other people joined them. They were telling him to do it, quickly Draco just do it, it has to be you, and couldn’t they see he wasn’t a killer? Couldn’t they see what for Dumbledore, and maybe even for Potter, was so clear?  
  
Potter, he wouldn’t have been in this predicament, that stupid boy would rather sacrifice his life than kill an old man that was possibly dying anyway. Draco wasn’t Potter, though. Still, he couldn’t voice the curse, so wasn’t that what he was doing too? Surely not killing Dumbledore would mean death, wasn’t not acting a sort of sacrifice itself? He was young, he didn’t want to die.  
His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Snape, and “Severus, please...”. Then two words, spoken with rage and disgust, and green light and a soft, horrendous thump. Sound, light, sound. And then nothing, for a moment or for hours, days, weeks. Snape’s voice, telling him to follow, and it was all mechanic movements after that. Running, dodging, getting away, surviving. Somewhere, a cry of rage and shock, and maybe panic. Potter, he knew it. Don’t be afraid, Potter, Harry, the name coming in the moment of kinship, two boys so young and so terrified. He knew that, as well. Don’t be scared, Harry, because Dumbledore is dead and you are all we have left. I can’t afford to hate you anymore, because I am scared enough for both of us and I need you, i need hope, to save me from myself.  
  
“Run, Draco” Snape’s voice said, again. He ran, further, while Snape fought Potter, but then he couldn’t go, he couldn’t leave and he turned to look. Potter had grown a fair lot in their sixth year, so he didn’t look small, compared to their professor. He stood, battered and proud, addressing Snape like an equal, despite the differences in experience and power. He saw the other man killing the Headmaster in cold blood and still there he was, knowing it wasn’t a balanced fight but trying anyway. For a moment, Draco thought Snape would kill him and he felt the grip on his wand become painful, not really knowing what he would do, feeling his body guided by instinct. The curse, however, never came. He saw Potter’s body twisting on the floor, green eyes wide in pain, and Snape shouting “No!”. He saw the professor’s fury, Potter still trying and being knocked over. Then a firm grip wrapped around his arm, and he was running again. Next thing he saw was the hall of the Manor, and his startled eyes fixing him from one of the mirrors, frozen in terror, and for a moment, they looked green.


	2. A boy at home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure when i will update, I guess it will be random as i manage to write. This chapter was written in a hurry so i apologise for all the mistakes.  
> I know some of the dialogues are taken directly from the book but i wanted it to be as canon as possible and I hope this doesnt make it boring.  
> My aim is to show certain situations that could have cause Draco to revaluate his beliefs and the part that Harry played in those changes. So i think seeing someone die (Dumbledore doesn’t count as he falls from the tower while this is in front of him) would be a big turning point.  
> Also, at some point i kinda described what i felt in the past during panic attacts and how i had to focus on an image and my breathing and heart rate to come back to reality, i hope it makes sense.  
> Meh, what else, don’t get too bored.

Since starting Hogwarts, summer had always been a bittersweet time for Draco. The Manor was huge, richly furnished and the grounds were stunning. Draco knew well that most of his peers envied him and during the school year he would often boast about his home with whoever would listen. The truth was, though, that after months in close quarters with people his age and with a freedom that only came from being away from the watchful eyes of his parents, he missed Hogwarts. The Manor was ancient and beautiful, not unlike his school, but there were no young voices populating the corridors, no one to share secrets and mischiefs with and, having no siblings or cousins, it felt empty and lonely. Even with his claims that Hogwarts was a second quality school, where the education level was somewhat lacking and where people less worthy were allowed to live and learn side by side with the more deserving ones, he considered the castle his second home, as it often happens when boarding.  
  
The envious admiration of the other students in his regards had, also, a huge appeal to his vain side and his father was seldom impressed with the stories as his school mates were.  
  
On the positive side at home he was pampered and served in a way that was impossible in the castle, and he was allowed to see his friends often enough for boredom and loneliness not to become a daily occurrence .  
  
So, when the time to go home came, Draco was always overwhelmed by contrasting feelings.  
  
Summer of 1997 was a completely different matter. His home, his pride and the place of most of his childhood treasured memories, was no longer empty, but the company was far from what younger Draco had imagine in his wistful fantasies.  
  
The manor, ever so imperious, became dark and oppressing, a looming structure over dying gardens. There was no time for pomp, during war. The Malfoy family had disappointed the Dark Lord in more than one way, and this was the punishment for their ineptitude. Even the air had changed. What Draco had always appreciated as a sweet chill in the summer heat, thanks to the thick stone walls, was now a a perpetual frostiness that seeped trough skin and settled deep in the bones, leaving him shivering most of the time.  
  
He rarely saw his friends, the ones whose parents were involved with or were Death Eaters themselves, and the encounters with Theo, Pansy, Greg and Vince were usually very uneasy and withdrawn. His secretive behaviour in the last year had put distance between him and the others, and he knew that the whole business with Dumbledore had left his friends somewhat shocked. Their arms were, ultimately, unmarked and Draco knew he was alone. Despite being of age, he felt like a child trapped in a role that didn’t belong to him. A new sentiment, regret, planted its seed in the pit of Draco’s stomach, growing and twisting, leaving him with waves of nausea and discomfort. If he could go back and talk to the cocky and proud 16 years old he had been the summer before, Draco was sure a few hexes wouldn’t have gone amiss.  
  
“Draco, dear, dinner is about to be served” his mother’s voice called from outside his room and for a fraction of a moment pale fingers lingered on the frame of the door, left slightly ajar.  
  
“Yes, mother” he replied, dejected, and with a sigh his mother removed her hand and left.  
  
His room had become his sanctuary and Draco would spend most of his free time between the familiar four walls, but dinner was an unavoidable experience. He dragged himself bitterly down the stairs and into the dining room. The long table, that felt ridiculously imposing when eating with his parents alone, was prepared for a feast, all but two seats taken. The rich dishes that covered the surface made him think of the banquet in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but the occasion was far from the cheerful atmosphere of school. He sat to the right of his father, and they both avoided the other’s eyes. One used to stand tall and proud, his father had never lost the grey tinge and jitteriness of prison, and was now a nervous shell of the man Draco grew to worship.  
  
They ate in silence, the only sound the clinking of cutlery against the plates.  
  
When the guests were finished, the table cleared thanks to the magic of the house-elves. Draco had barely touched his dinner and he felt grateful for that when the icy voice of the Dark Lord interrupted the quiet “Now, if you could all give me your attention, a special guest shall join us for dessert”. He sounded darkly amused and Draco watched in horror as with a clap of his hands a body surged trough the door and came to levitate in the centre of the freshly polished table, almost above his head. The body, a woman, floated upside down, her neck strangely bent while her pale brown hair almost touched the surface of the table. Her eyes were unfocused, the white predominant, iris almost completely rolled inside her skull. She didn’t move but Draco felt drawn to her, and couldn’t help himself for glancing up in terror every few minutes. She looked familiar but he couldn’t quite place her, making him unnerved.  
  
Draco could feel the room bursting with anticipation but the Dark Lord didn’t supply further explanation. He just looked at the unconscious woman with a mix of contempt and amusement and then to the door, that opened to let two cloaked figures enter the room.  
  
“Yaxley. Snape. You are very nearly late”. The two men didn’t speak but took their allotted spaces when ordered to sit.  
  
“So?” The Dark Lord prompted.  
  
Snape, who was sitting at his immediate right, spoke first “My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall.”  
  
At the mention of his former school mate, Draco’s eyes snapped away from the mesmerising body in front of him. The audience of the room was now fully focused on the exchange between the two men.  
  
Draco had heard that Potter was in a safe place, probably with his muggle family, but the protection would vanish the day he was to become of age, on July 31st. In a week. Draco thought of his own birthday, the excitement of finally becoming an adult tampered by the events and the fear of what was to happen. He wondered if Potter was aware of the impending threat on what should have been a happy day in the life of a young wizard. He knew that the other boy was most likely prepared but couldn’t help wishing that Potter could still live the days up to his birthday with some sort of normal anticipation and joy. He used to be jealous of Potter but living in close quarters with the Dark Lord made him realise what a fool he had been. No fame was worth being the target of such darkness.  
  
Snape and Yaxley were still discussing the informations they had gathered and Draco found himself watching his Professor. He didn’t understand how the man could speak so calmly about something that would lead to the death of one of his students. Yes, Snape notoriously didn’t like the boy and regarded him like a spoiled brat, but surely that wasn’t a reason enough to actively aid in planning his death. Draco reflected about the times he had wished Potter, and even Granger, a terrible fate based only of his great dislike for the other two students. Had Potter ever wished him dead? Would he have actively contributed in organising his demise? He didn’t think so. Draco had never before felt the urge to revaluate himself and he didn’t know what to think. At 17, his world had suddenly flipped upside down and he was now alone in his own head. He was so lost in thoughts that he jumped startled when a sudden wail of pain and despair came from the dungeons. He quickly try to regain composure as not to drawn attention to himself but the Dark Lord didn’t notice and addressed Wormtail instead “have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?”.  
  
The man gasped from his place somewhere mid-table and hurriedly left, apologising. Draco was disgusted to see a grown man reduced to a whimpering puppet, but were they not all like that, the followers of the Dark Lord? Made to serve, expendable. None of the glory and power his father had talked about, just men driven by their instinct of survival and a sick compulsion to please their leader. Oh how his father had been wrong, and now that he wasn’t in the graces of the Dark Lord any longer, Draco knew he was starting to see that.  
  
As if able to follow his line of musing, the gaze of the Dark Lord fell upon his father and he requested Lucius to submit his wand.  
  
Draco was trembling and only a quick glance to his mother, steady and composed, helped him to recover some sort of control.  
  
His father, on the other side, looked on the verge of a breakdown and when he spoke his voice was hoarse “My Lord?”  
  
“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.”  
  
“I . . .”  
  
Don’t be stupid, father, you know you have no choice, Draco pleaded in his head. His request was granted when, after a brief moment, his father reached into his robe and gave up his wand.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Elm, my Lord” his father whispered.  
  
“And the core?”  
  
“Dragon — dragon heartstring.”  
  
“Good,” said the Dark Lord. He drew out his own wand and compared the lengths. To Draco’s horror Lucius made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected to receive the other wizard’s wand in exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed and the Dark Lord’s eyes widened maliciously.  
  
“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?”  
  
Some of the throng sniggered.  
  
“I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late. . . . What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?”  
  
He knows, Draco thought, he knows. The air was sucked out of his lungs and his eyes drifted involuntarily back to the body still looming above his head. Would they be granted mercy with a quick execution or would their deaths be undignified, dehumanised, their bodies put up for a show like the nameless woman in front of him?  
  
“Nothing — nothing, my Lord!” His father tried.  
  
“Such lies, Lucius . . .” And then the Dark Lord started hissing. And something was hissing back.  
  
Draco watched in bewilderment as Nagini, the snake, rose from the floor and came to rest across the Dark Lord’s shoulders. The wizard stroke her absentmindedly.  
  
“Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”  
  
“Of course, my Lord,” his father replied hastily . His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it — we do.”  
  
To his left, his mother made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from the dark wizard and the snake.  
  
Draco knew he had to do something but all he could manage was a small tilt of his head in the Dark Lord’s direction, trying to avoid eye contact.  
  
His aunt Bellatrix chimed in, voice sickly sweet and enamoured, assuring her Lord of the immense pleasure of being able to provide him with their family house and services. Not your house, Draco wanted to shout. Not our pleasure. Potter would have done it, tell the truth in the face of death, stupid, maybe, reckless, yes. Draco was proud of his self control. Or was it fear? For a brief moment an image of his own grave with the wording Draco Lucius Malfoy, 17, died stupid but brave appeared in his mind but he shook it away. He was no Potter but he was surely well on his way to be crazy. The discussion had shifted toward his extended family and Draco partially listen to the Dark Lord mocking Bellatrix about his other estranged aunt and the marriage of her daughter to his ex Defence Professor. Draco had been nasty with Professor Lupin but he secretly thought him to be the best Defence teacher they had so far. Not that the competition was worthy. Suddenly he heard his name and he froze in terror, startled. Everybody was laughing maliciously and it took him a minute to understand the question.  
  
“What say you, Draco?” The Dark Lord had asked “Will you babysit the cubs?”  
  
Was he suppose to answer? And what do you reply to a question like that? The laugher grew louder and he could clearly see the other Death Eaters thrilled at his family humiliation. He looked at his mother and she shook her head minutely, a gentle warning. Not needed he thought, even willingly he doubted he could have found his voice.  
  
“Enough” said the Dark Lord, stopping the hilarity, and Draco released the breath he was holding. The world had gone fuzzy and he could barely make out words about trees and pruning. The forest, his mind provided, I wish I could be in the forest. Green, dark, hiding. His heart was a drum in his chest, regular, fast. Thump, thump, thump. A rhythm, like steps on the wild ground, running. A steady pace. Step, step, step. Thump, thump, thump. Slowing down. Thump. Pause. Thump. His breathing regulated, his pupils shrunk back, and he was abruptly jolted back to reality.  
  
The woman in front of him was no longer unconscious and was now grunting in evident struggle against her invisible bonds.  
  
Draco wanted to throw up, his stomach thigh and uncomfortable. All eyes were now and her and Snape confirmed his recognition. Draco found himself unable to watch, now that she had woken, but he had figured she looked about the same age as his professor and he wondered if perhaps they had been in school together. She was an inconsequential woman, not memorable, but something in his brain was telling him he knew who she was.  
  
“And you, Draco? Do you recognise her?”.  
  
Desperate to divert the attention he shook his head.  
  
“But you would not have taken her classes,” said The Dark Lord. “For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”  
  
Ah, the Muggle Studies Professor. Voldemort’s glacial voice echoed in the room but was lost to Draco’s ears. He was again transfixed by the sight in front of him, Charity Burbage’s pleading eyes, so terrified in her last moments. Her soft voice begging Snape, a colleague, maybe even a friend, someone she trusted, to help her. She must have known it was in vain, but still she tried “Severus... please... please”. The same parting words professed by Dumbledore not long before, but while the Headmaster had sounded ready to Draco’s ears, Professor Burbage was desperate. She is scared to die, Draco realised, a bit pointlessly, and while watching Charity Burbage lifeless body fall ungraciously on the table he understood what Harry meant when he said that it was ok to be scared. Because this was real. This was war and people died and would die. And with this new knowledge, a boy that once dreamt of magnificence, power and glory, elevating himself above the others in what at 16 was just a game of role-play, felt his whole belief system die a little bit too. His head spinning, Draco felt his body give up and his chair hitting the floor with a crash. The last thing he heard was the snake hissing and then all was black.

In the days following Draco’s dreams were populated by a body spinning lazily midair, face morphing into the ones of his schoolmates. He never looked at them in the eyes but their mouths were always moving. From that prospective sad lips looked almost like they were smiling. Sometimes they would plea him, please Draco, please, other times they would wish Harry Potter a very happy birthday. In the background, a snake kept hissing, and in the coldness of the night the Manor had never felt emptier. 


	3. A boy by the raspberry bushes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve noticed I am crap with titles, but that’s what the edit button is for once the light of creativity comes at me from above. Anyhow, I think i might be writing too fast and so im not sure about the quality of the work but i need to put the ideas down before my brain decide to never remember them again ever. Anyway, this story is not about looks but when i saw this picture https://photographymag.tn/people/portraits/portrait-photography-inspiration-not-my-fc-for-whit-but-kinda-close-and-they-dress-kinda-the-same-i-guess-lol/amp/.  
> I was like Oh boy, Potter! This guy looks a lot like my idea of Harry, glasses aside. I like to visualise a character when i write, so my Harry is a lot like this, good looking but not over the top swooning sort of thing, just normal, on the thin side, with wavy messy hair and very pretty eyes.  
> From this chapter the story should be a bit more interesting as they are not events properly described in the books. Its all from Draco’s prespective so we won’t really know what is happening to people he doesnt interact with but pretty much the same as in the books. I just changed the sectumsempra part and I will change what happens straight after the battle of Hogwarts.

It was well into the night when people started coming back to the Manor. Draco had barely moved from his position in front of the window, his right hand resting on the diamond-paned glass, relishing the cold feeling against his palm. The numbing ache in his fingertips kept him grounded, a gentle throb that anchored him to reality, and for a long time he had tried to concentrate on that sensation alone. It wouldn’t do to think of what was happening, not while there was still hope. In his left hand, resting along his body, was his wand. There was nothing he could do but its presence was comforting. His index finger was involuntary tapping against the smooth wood, the only movement in his otherwise still body. His eyes were trained on the property gate, and he must had forgotten how to blink because they felt dry and painful. Tired, but he wanted to know. Needed to know. From inside he couldn’t hear the telltale “pop” of apparition, so when a body suddenly materialised in the driveway he shot an involuntary stream of wild magic that left a nasty burn stain on the lush carpet. Even without the silver mask he wouldn’t have been able to make out the features of the person in the distance. The figure stood still, waiting, and soon others appeared in the proximities. They were moving now, agitated and when one of the hoods fell backwards Draco recognised the wild hair. Bellatrix. His aunt was pacing around, hands gesticulating frantically, in what looked like rage. His body trembled in trepidation. A dark cloud of smoke surged trough the sky and Lord Voldemort’s scream of fury held all the answers Draco had been waiting for. Potter was alive. That night not even the wails of pain coming from the dungeons could dim the little ray of hope that was warming his heart. 

After the failed mission the Dark Lord had been frantic and the efforts to take over the Ministry were stronger than ever. Draco knew it was only a matter of time. As the youngest of the Death Eaters and hugely inexperienced, Draco was no use for the Dark Lord and he was mostly left to his own devices. To his great relief he was rarely addressed and although some of the older wizards took joy in teasing and humiliating him, the fact that the Dark Lord was spending little time at the Manor meant that he was mostly free to roam his propriety as he pleased.  
Draco took a liking to the gardens, and in particular a secluded spot surrounded by raspberries bushes, far away from the gates and the stream of people coming and going. It was a wild little corner, where nature had been mostly left in charge of its own creation. The grass was slightly overgrown and the ground was dotter with spontaneous flowers, a sight so different from the rest of the gardens, almost maniacally kept in neatness and perfection. Here Draco could pretend to be somewhere else. The midsummer days were warm and bright and he enjoyed the feeling of the sun gently lifting the iciness from his bones. He had never before picked fruits directly from the source and he pondered on how bizarre it was that he became of age without once engaging in something so mundane and normal. He thought of the orchard, that stretched across the land behind the Manor, and the apples trees he so often walked between. Never, not once, had he reached his arm out to grab one of the shiny fruits, so inviting. Was he really so used to be served that the notion never occurred to him? Apples had always been brought to him at his whim, cut in regular slices and presented on fine china plates by obliging elves. Draco found out he truly enjoyed the small pleasure of selecting a berry and gently plucking it from the bush. After a soft blow, he would push the fruit in his mouth, sucking lightly on his juice stained fingers, and let the bitter sweetness of the raspberry melt on his tongue. A ritual, slow and treasured. And for a moment he would forget everything that was wrong with the world. Sometimes exhaustion would take hold of his body and he would fall asleep in the cool shade of the bushes. It was there that Narcissa frequently found him, curled up like a child, and in those moments there was only a mother hope for her son to be safe. And maybe, one day, to be happy. 

September came, eventually, and his trunk was ready. He had prepared it himself, in an attempt to keep busy. He had spread all the belongings he intended to take with him on the bed and, after all the space was taken, on the floor beside the trunk. He had been amazed by the amount of stuff in front of him, realising that he never saw it all together out of the confined space of his luggage, charmed to extend in order to accomodate it all. Oh, how perspective changed things. The process itself was methodical, the fact that he didn’t resolve to using magic at all completely escaping his notice. Pick. Bend. Pack. Don’t think about Hogwarts. Repeat. It was over too soon.  
The Ministry had fallen and Draco knew that this year the train ride would take him to a school that looked unchanged but was at the same time completely different. He didn’t like different, nowadays.  
But there he was, standing on platform 9 and 3/4 with his mother by his side, already dressed in his school robes with the hood put firmly over his fair hair. For once, he didn’t want to be seen. His father wasn’t present, but then he barely left the house anymore. His mother’s posture was stiff, a tense cord just short of snapping, her eyes averted from the mass of people around them. She held her chin high, a move that would been seen as of arrogance by the ones that didn’t know her. And why not, “their side” was supposedly winning and they had control over the school, for all it was worth she had reasons to be smug. But Draco knew his mother was just holding onto the last shred of dignity she had left. He could see the worry lines around her eyes and her mouth, an almost lipless line too tight for comfort. Her shoulders were straight, the aristocratic upbringing showing in each of her movements, but the rigid line of her neck and the imperceptible clenching of her fingers betrayed her poise. She was nervous. He wished he could talk to her, properly, tell her he was nervous too. Tell her to be safe, and reassure her he would be too. Hold onto her and never let go. He could see that more and more people around the platform were now saying their goodbyes and the white fog coming from the train told him it was time to go.  
He looked at Narcissa, trying to communicate with his eyes what he couldn’t with his words.  
“Mother”. Mum.  
His mother placed a delicate hand at the base of his back, a barely there touch that spoke of love, of yearning for more.  
“Have a good school year, darling. I will send you chocolate”. I love you.  
“Thank you. Give my regards to father”. I love you, too.  
When she pushed him gently towards the door of the carriage he could swear he heard her whispering “It’s going to be ok” so softly, like a promise that she wasn’t sure she could fulfil. 

The train was emptier than ever before, and Draco wasn’t in denial. He knew that lots of student were sensible enough not to return. Hogwarts was’t welcoming for Mudbloods any longer, and most likely some of the other parents didn’t want to take a chance with their children’s safety. The somewhat tamed group of people on the platform, still significant but far from the chaos of the previous years, was telling enough. He had heard a few of the other students struggling with their parents, insisting to go, that they didn’t care, that it was their school. He had seen the supplication in the resigned faces of the older people, watching their children grow out of their protective arms, the pride for seeing them stand up for themselves mixed with terror and worry. Parents worried, like his mother, wanting to shelter their loved ones in the safety of home. His mother, though, was relieved to see him go, as their house was no shelter anymore, nor safe. But People didn’t know that, they believed all was good for him, and Draco could still feel the prickling of distrusting, maybe even hateful, eyes on his back while he walked down the carriage to find a free compartment.  
His gaze involuntarily searched for a spot of dark hair in between the heads of the students looking for a space to sit. He was aware that Potter wasn’t a fool, and if Hogwarts might not be safe any longer for some of the students, it would be downright suicidal for the Dark Lord’s most wanted wizard. But still, almost out of habit, he kept his eyes wandering. He had seek Potter out in nearly every one of their train rides and it seemed only fitting to do it in the one that was going to be his last. Did Potter regret not knowing that the previous year would have been his last time on the Hogwarts Express? Would he have tried to enjoy it more? It was a frequent dilemma in Draco’s mind as of lately, if people would make the most of their experiences knowing before that they were going to be their last chance at it. He absentmindedly reached for the door handle of a compartment, still so lost in thoughts that he had to do a double take at the sight of the black haired boy sitting by the window. Not Potter, his mind provided eventually, even before the other boy turned to look at him.  
“Theo?” Draco breathed softly.  
He hadn’t seen Theo after that brief time at the beginning of summer.  
Theo’s mother had died when he was only three, and his father had always been a strict, cold man. But there was Stephen, Theo’s older brother and for a long time they had been enough for each other. That was, until Stephen had joined the Death Eater along with Draco, the summer before. And got himself killed, the night of the raid to get Potter, Draco’s brain reminded him, and a wave of shame shook him. He didn’t even send an owl.  
Theo was important for Draco, in a way not many people knew. In a way he hadn’t wanted people to know. Theo, on the other side, was unapologetic of whom he was and had watched Draco choosing his path with sad eyes. Theo wasn’t his father, or his brother, or even him.  
He reached out, as he had done many times in the past, a long gone past. The other boy’s eyes widened and he moved slightly backward.  
“Draco” he said warily.  
“Hey” Draco said, for lack of better words.  
“Draco, you don’t understand” Theo said sharply, eyes searching his almost in a silent beg “I am forgotten. And I intend it to stay that way”.  
Draco didn’t need to hear more, he knew what the other boy meant. I want to stay out of it, you are not welcomed here.  
Theo’s face was tired and disappointed, and it reminded him once more of Potter, that time in the bathroom, wearing the same expression. Their thin delicate features, almost childlike and feminine, were somewhat similar and he wondered why he didn’t notice before.  
On his way out he bumped into Blaise, calling for Theo.  
Blaise’s take on the Dark Lord’s matter was of disinterested arrogance, like if he felt above all those blood disputes. Draco was aware that, in truth, Blaise was making a statement with his unbothered attitude. I don’t want to be involved, just like Theo. Overall, Blaise was a far better man than he was, and Draco knew that, even if differently, he would be a far better friend for Theo too.


	4. A boy in Slytherin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a while and I’m not really happy with it but I am not sure how to change it and i want the story to progress.  
> I think my english is probably pretty bad too so I hope I haven’t made too many mistakes. I’m writing on my phone and the website doesn’t seem to recognise some of the format.  
> Anyway, there is no Harry in this chapter but be should make an appearence in the next one

The year started with a very muted version of the Sorting Ceremony, far from the exciting occasion it used to be under the guide of Dumbledore. Even in the last years, when the Hat had sung about the uncertainty of the future and the dark times ahead, the student body was buzzing with excitement, stomachs growling at the anticipation of the sumptuous feast to come and little 11 years old hearts thumping with the hope to be sorted into that particular House. But this time the atmosphere felt suffocating and heavy.  
The Hat waited silently for the first trembling child to take a seat on the stool before appointing each one of the new students into their future House. It spoke the four names of the Founders loud and clear, with a tone of defiance odd for an inanimate object. A word for each child, said in a confident way as if challenging someone to object, and the meaning behind it was transparent to Draco’s ears. You are who you are, be proud, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. But also, be open.  
He looked at the tiny wizards and witches, in line for something more than simple grouping, and he knew that single instant sitting on the stool, so little and unprepared, would define them for the rest of their lives.  
What an iconic moment the sorting truly was. Little children, that before then were simply Matthew, and Lucy, and David and Zara, were now supposed to be a brave Gryffindor, or a clever Ravenclaw, a friendly Hufflepuff or a cunning Slytherin. He could see in their tense young faces that, this year, such identification was more of a curse than a blessing.  
He remembered his own sorting, the smugness at being appointed to the house of Slytherin and to the honours he associated with it. He was were he wanted to be, with the people he saw as his equals above the others. No doubts in his 11 years old mind that he wouldn’t want anything to do with the children that just a minute before he had scanned in search of potential friendship, but that were now part of something different. Marked as different.  
In the eyes of Matthew, Lucy, Zara, David and all the other first years there wasn’t any trace of that pride of belonging. He could only sense the fear of being that Slytherin, associated to the Dark Side even before being able to perform a simple levitating spell, or that Gryffindor, expected to stand up and fight when just yesterday you were clinging to your mother’s hand, just 11 years old and scared. To be that child, picked upon without being allowed to find your own place in the world first. The silence of the Hat spoke clearly. This is your house, but I won’t say more. Make yourself, take comfort and guidance from the people that will be around you but find who you are, be more than just a category. This year the Houses are simple names and nothing more.  
When the last of the young students was sent to join the Ravenclaws, the Hat offered a few parting words “Think differently, accept different” and then fell silent again, collapsing on itself like a worn out rag.  
“Well, wasn’t that sweet” a mocking voice rose from the Professors table, and Draco watched as one of the new members of staff stood up. Amycus Carrow was a pallid, ill looking man, with tiny pig eyes and a squat body that didn’t help disguise his lack of intellect. Draco couldn’t fantom the Dark Lord’s choice in such a man as his leverage over the school, and shivered in disgust when the older wizard cleared his throat obnoxiously and continued “I’ve been chosen by the Ministry as your Dark Arts Professor and I’d say it was about time you had someone up to the task. From today on I’ll be Professor Carrow to you and I’ll make sure that any disrespectful behaviour is punished the right way. You will notice things are quite different from the way that old fool Dumbledore used to run the school”.  
“I will not let you speak ill of a man that had more intelligence in his finger nails that you could ever dream for yourself”. The voice of Professor McGonagall cut trough the outraged whispering, sharp and steady. Draco could see the Transfiguration Professor clenching her fork firmly in one hand, the other, hidden under the table, probably holding her wand just as tight. The light from the floating candles bounced off her glasses, hiding her eyes behind mirror-like lenses, but he was sure they were alight with fury.  
“Oh Minerva, I would be careful if I were you. You see, the new regime is keen to purge the Wizarding World. Are you sure that all your little Gryffindors are worthy?”  
The threat, aimed craftily at the pupils, had the power to make McGonagall hold her tongue, and both the student and teacher bodies fell quiet. Draco was disturbed that grown men would jeopardise the safety of what were mostly underage children. He had never thought about the other students of Hogwarts as possible victims of the war, probably never really cared before, but, after seeing Professor Burbage die, his little bubble had popped and now the reality of what was happening had hit him full force. He tried not to think about what would be of some of the wizards and witches that were in the Great Hall with him at that very moment if the Dark Lord was to win the war. People he had shared classes and meals with, or simply just passed across in the corridors, students that weren’t even fully qualified, just children or barely more. Somehow he doubted there would be mercy.  
He never wanted that, and once again he felt the weight of his actions. Did you really think you could get all the power and glory without dirtying your hands? He asked himself, and even if his mind pleaded him that he didn’t know, that he hadn’t thought about that consequence, his heart couldn’t quite believe it.  
His gaze moved back to the teacher’s table, where Amycus was presenting his sister as the new Professor of Muggle Studies, a now mandatory subject. Alecto Carrow, albeit slightly brighter than her brother, was just as malevolent and she regarded the students with a wheezy laugh and the ominous promise she would teach them all the horrors about Muggles. Draco wondered if it was truly people like the Carrows, untalented and cruel but pure-blooded, that were “worthy” of the Wizarding World. While the siblings introduced Snape as the new Headmaster, Draco noticed the pursed lips and the subtle look of disgust on the older wizard’s face and he couldn’t help but thinking that his former Professor might share his opinion. He still wasn’t sure were Snape really stood in the war, and his need to reach out to the Professor was barely squashed by the possible dangers of revealing his new feelings.  
Draco thought about Theo, who had sat rigidly trough dinner, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance, unfocused and pained. About Vincent and Greg, that had slipped easily into his role and were now occupying Draco’s former place at the centre of the Slytherin table, lips twisted in two matching feral grins. About the other Slytherins, that were now in both a favourable and terrible position. About himself that, in this situation he once thought he would cherish, was truly alone. And about Potter that, wherever he was, hopefully wasn’t.

To an outsider, the school would have appeared the same, but Draco was a witness of how things had truly changed and with them his role within Hogwarts. The dynamics had switched and he was no longer at the top of the food chain, nor he wanted to be. Used to be at the centre of the attention, he was now a silent observer of the little acts of bravery and revolution that were happening around him. Filch’s wishes to bring back corporal discipline had been answered and the Carrows didn’t show any remorse for inflicting pain to even the smallest of pupils. Detentions reached a new level of punishment, just short of torture. The youngest students were terrified to do anything that could land them chained up or cursed, while the fifth years and up tried to put on their brave faces and often took the blame to protect them.  
In spite of the Carrows methods, the students still showed their hostility trough displays of rebellion and pacific vandalism. Messages in support of Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix started appearing across the castle walls and people stood up against the abuse in every way they could. Often the younger students were rescued from detention and Draco strongly suspected the rise of a underground movement that aimed to continue Potter’s fifth year DADA project. The other teachers were clearly displeased and went to great lengths to show their support and avoid the students further suffering, and even the new Headmaster showed his unwillingness to resort to such brutal ways of discipline.  
In this climate of animosity the Carrows still found some allies and Vincent and Greg were between the ones more eager to aid in inflicting punishments. After years living in his shadow, Draco found that his friends were happy to prove themselves good at something and showed a viciousness he didn’t think they had in them. They too had taken the Mark, just before the beginning of the school year, but while Draco was having second thoughts, they were clearly dedicated to the cause. When the Defence classes, that were now communal for all the seventh years, had turned into evident teaching of the Dark Arts, the two, Vincent especially, had embraced the opportunity to gain experience at the other students expenses. Draco believed that many of them were allowed into the class just to be used as experimental material.  
It was during one of those lessons, in which Draco had taken the habit to try his best at blending into the background, that Longbottom imprudently challenged Amycus. The Death Eater was explaining the uses of the Imperious Curse as a legit method of controlling Muggles and other socially dangerous individuals and he decided to pick Goldstein, a Ravenclaw, to demonstrate the effects. Amycus watched maniacally as the young wizard was forced to complete a series of humiliating actions, laughing and mocking him.  
“It seems Potter’s ability to resist the Imperius was just a legend, or the boy truly was a rotten teacher if his little pets perform so poorly”.  
Draco looked in horror as Longbottom rose to his feet and, keeping his eyes fixed on the other man, spat “Harry was a better teacher and a more powerful wizard that you’ll ever be”. Apparently Potter attitude was contagious. Although fundamentally stupid, Draco was impressed with Longbottom’s audacity, as he had begrudgingly been with Potter’s before.  
Amycus turned his head slowly towards the Gryffindor and laughed cruelly “It seems Longbottom here has volunteered himself as a target for practice. How noble, come here boy”.  
Draco knew that Longbottom was prepared for that eventuality, but as he stepped forward, chin raised and proud, he noticed a flicker of uncertainty in the other wizard’s gaze. He remembered his aunt gloating about the fate of Longbottom’s parents, how the Cruciatus had reduced them to empty vessels, and wondered if his schoolmate was afraid of how much his little stunt would cost him. He always thought the Gryffindor as weak and pathetic, but the boy in front of him, willingly subjecting himself to something that destroyed his family, was neither. He hope it wouldn’t be the Cruciatus.  
Amycus was scanning the room when he stopped on Theo, and Draco’s heart sank. “Nott, perhaps” the Death Eater said, putting a hand on Theo’s shoulder. Draco saw his friend moving backwards out of the touch, eyes wild, but Amycus didn’t seem to notice and continued “lets see if you are as good of a wizard as your brother was”.  
“My brother was 21” Theo replied harshly , and Draco knew that bitterness wasn’t addressed at the Gryffindor.  
The man, thought, mistook his words and prodded “Longbottom’s friends were responsible for his death, after all, so this is the perfect occasion for payback, in Stephen’s memory”.  
“Stephen knew what he was doing” Theo’s tone was glacial and Draco saw the confused expression of the Death Eater. Before Amycus could understand that Theo didn’t wanted to do it, before the consequences of said revelation, Draco heard his own voice saying “I’ll do it”. Thirty heads turned in his direction. He felt his heart race, the cold trail of sweat on his neck. Better me than Theo.  
“Eager, are we, little Lucius?” Amycus taunted him “Are you trying to redeem the family name after Daddy’s fall from grace?”  
“Let’s just get it done” Draco growled.  
“I think Longbottom would like to try the Cruciatus curse, see if a little bit of pain teaches him how to treat his superiors”  
He saw Longbottom’s eyes widen slightly. No. No no no. Draco refused to be the one to put the other boy under the curse that robbed him of his parents. He tried to maintain a calm appearence and give a bored inflection to his voice “I find that humiliation is worse than pain”.  
The Death Eater just laughed stupidly.  
Draco tried to think only of Theo while he forced the Gryffindor to bend and kiss his shoes. Better me than Theo. His wand trained on Longbottom, he didn’t look at the other boy, letting the prickling feeling of Dark Magic flow from his hand. He had used the curse before, but the uncomfortable sensation under his skin never faded. Better me than Theo. “Get up, Longbottom. I’m done”.  
The rest of the class passed in a blur.  
At some point Blaise voice had murmured from somewhere near his ear “I know you have done it for him. You have done it so he didn’t have to”.  
He didn’t turn around “I am already tainted”. Better me than Theo.  
“I think what you just did shows that maybe you aren’t”. But Blaise reassurance was of little consolation.  
On his way out he bumped into the Headmaster.  
“Draco?” Snape’s eyes were questioning and something in the hunted look on Draco’s face seemed to soften the man’s demeanour. For a moment he thought his former Professor wanted to add something, but nothing came. Draco fled.


	5. A boy in the forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about Luna and since i know she was taken on her way back after Christmas Holidays her and Draco didn’t have much time to get to know each other since he is at school when she is prisoner in his home, i created my own version of how they met. I wanted to say something else but i forgot so maybe i will add it later. 
> 
> Anyway, here it is, enjoy and if anyone wants to correct my grammar please let me know.

When fall turned over into winter, it wasn’t gently. October had been tempered and lovely and the sweet scent from the pumpkins patch behind Hagrid’s hut had lingered in the air well into November. The edge of the Forbidden Forest had been scattered with fallen leaves that gleamed gold in the mild sun light, making the place look magical. Draco had wondered if Muggles believed in magic, on warm November days like those. He knew Muggles talked of magic, and he always thought them to be deprived, surely jealous and spiteful if they were to find out their secret. Find out that people just like them, were actually quite special. Better. Stronger.   
He wasn’t deluded to believe that Muggles didn’t look human, exactly like wizards and witches did, at least aesthetically. He could even admit that some of them were beautiful, from what he had glimpsed before in the rare occasions he had wondered into their territory. But what was beauty without power, his father would say. What was life without magic? He had realised that he didn’t know much about Muggles, but he was aware that they somehow had their ways to be happy, to find their reasons to live. To find their “magic”. And in those exquisite afternoons, in the little spot just meters into the forest where the sun rays could still find him between the thickening trees, Draco believed in that magic of life that he and the Muggles shared. In a magic that wasn’t about power, glory or dominance, but was wild and untameable and wonderful. He was raised to seek control. Now, he was growing to appreciate the feeling of relinquishing and letting it be. Yes, in those autumnal days Draco could almost convince himself to be just that, a carefree young man, happy to be alive in such a beautiful world.  
But he wasn’t happy, and December came, bearing reality like an unwanted gift on its frosty shoulders. The leaves rotted on the soggy grounds, the Norther wind claiming the perfumes of spices and fruits to replace them with the pungent odour of decaying nature. The snow, that often by then would cover Scotland like a mantle, was late this year and everything looked brown, muddy and dead. Still, Draco walked to the forest. The cracking sound of frozen sticks breaking under his boots mingled with the shaking voices of third year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, begging the groundskeeper to take their lesson somewhere warm. His classes were over for the day, and, as of lately, he rarely spent much time on his homework or resolved to take them with him. He muttered a warming charm, breathing in the little puff of steam that rose from his winter cloak. He could still feel the cold, but the castle was no place for outcasts. He knew that his loneliness was partly self imposed, but he didn’t have it in him to play along anymore. After the “accident” with Longbottom in Carrow’s class neither him or Theo had been called to aid again in the Death Eater’s torture sessions, and Draco had speculated about Snape’s involvement. Although, probably, the Carrows just found students more willing to have their go at loathed classmates. Longbottom hadn’t learned his lesson, and still spoke up whenever he felt right to do so. His attitude always made Draco think of Potter. Potter, lost somewhere but that still left an imprint on the friends that stayed behind. Potter that, wherever he was, still had friends. There was no one with Draco, when he entered the forest. He had come to like the place, with its sounds and its quiet and its safety and its dangers. He had found refuge from his confusing feelings in the strange peace of a little clearing not far into the trees, company in the creatures that sometimes strolled by, giving him curious glances but never coming quite too close. Today, there was a small group of thestrals already there, two adults and a little foal, steady on his fragile looking legs but still fairly young. Draco knew that despite their disturbing appearance they were quite innocuous, but still couldn’t shake the jolt of disgust he had felt upon seeing them for the first time. It was hard to like something so connected to a tragic memory.   
The adults spared him an uninterested glance and concluded he wasn’t a threat as they resumed their grooming. The little one stared. Draco aimed a quick warming charm at the ground to seat more comfortably, supporting his back on a chunky tree, and stared back. The white glossy eyes of the foal were fixed on him, seemingly blind if not for the precision with which the animal followed his movements. With the curiosity of the youngsters the thestral tilted its head and took a few step forwards. Draco had never been fond of animals before but in that moment he wanted nothing more than for the creature to approach him. I am alone. I won’t hurt you. He assessed the skeletal body, the eerie grace in the slender structure of the folded wings, the slight disproportions of infancy and thought that even if not quite perfect, not quite beautiful, the animal was magnificent. The foal assessed him back positively because he came within Draco’s reach, letting the boy run his fingers on its bony snout.   
“They sense danger” a soft voice said from somewhere behind him.  
Draco startled but the animals seemed unbothered by the new presence. They must know her, he thought and his beliefs were proved right when the Ravenclaw girl that sometimes hanged out with Potter, Lovegood or something, approached them carrying a bucket of what looked like blood covered rats. The smell of iron was strong and the creatures were immediately drawn to the girl, that fed them with the aid of a hooked stick. She was wrapped in a thick multicoloured scarf, far longer than the school ones, and messy strands of greyish/blond hair escaped from the bottom, a leaf or two tangled in the wavy locks. She wore no gloves and her hands were pale and bluish, but she didn’t seem to mind.   
When the bucket was finally empty, she turned around to face him, and said “So you must not be dangerous” as a statement. As if it was a fact.   
Draco realised he was still stunned and hadn’t said a word, so he gave her a curt nod. “Lovegood”, he greeted, choosing to ignore the witch’s assertion of his character.   
“Luna”, she corrected.   
Draco wanted to snap at her, asker why was she even talking to him. She was batty, after all, it was common knowledge around the school. She even looked the part, with her large dreamy eyes and crazy accessories. But Draco was lonely, and although most of the time he didn’t have the strength to care, she was there in that moment. Is she worthy of your time? younger Draco would have asked. But older Draco had seen the actions of people he had surrounded himself with in the previous years, the cruel mirth in their eyes while they watched their classmates scream in pain at their feet, and was reevaluating his idea of worthy. In just a few days he was going home for the holidays, back to the Manor, back to feeling scared all the time, and Luna was there and she wasn’t scary at all.   
Still, he wasn’t sure what to say, how to talk to this person so different from him. Luna, on the other hand, seemed happy to do all the talking. She looked back at the Thestrals and said sweetly “They might look a bit daunting, but me and Harry find them quite lovely”.  
Potter? Potter found the bat-like skeletal horses lovely? The idea was actually a bit ridiculous, and Draco felt a veil of sadness lift from his shoulders. The idea of the Gryffindor cooing and petting the creatures,in the same odd way Luna had done before, almost provoked a chuckle to escape his throat. Then he remembered, Potter could see them too. Harry, his brain automatically calling him Harry whenever he felt emotionally close to the other boy, could see them too. And had been able for far longer. With that in mind, the image of 14 years old Harry, scared and angry on top of Cedric’s body while screaming to the world the return of Lord Voldemort, didn’t seem pathetic and weak as it had 3 years before. Harry, who had seen death at 14 and still wanted to fight. Harry, who had been witness of horrors even before being old enough to remember them. And Draco, that at 14 still lived a life of privilege and love, because even though his parents had pushed him to achieve, they really loved him, had made fun of that little boy’s weaknesses when in truth he was much stronger. He had been one of those people, like his friends now, that laughed at the misery of others. He saw himself in Vincent, in Greg and Millicent and the others, grinning over their victims, proud idiots. Now he knew pain, he knew fear. In the comfort of the forest, in his secret place, there was no reasons for pretending and his feelings were there, for nobody and the world to see. And this girl, this target of bullies like him, could read it all over his face but instead of taunting him she talked to him, like he was worthy.  
That brief moment of happiness was gone, pushed away by shame and guilt.  
Why do you see them? He wanted to ask, but that was personal.   
“They surely don’t give a good first impression” he said, in lieu, nodding in the direction of the creatures.  
“Perhaps” she replied vaguely “but there is so much more, when you are willing to go beyond that”.  
And Draco didn’t know if they were still talking about the animals anymore. Or about her. Or, maybe, himself.

He met Luna in the forest another time after that, by chance or because he saw her trotting down the path. He was going there, anyway. She had a second hooked stick, so maybe it wasn’t a chance after all, and they fed the Thestrals in silence. There were five this time, including the little foal. She parted wishing him a Merry Christmas, he looked at her and said nothing.   
Christmas wasn’t merry, and didn’t feel like Christmas at all. But his mother was there, looking thin and strong, and they hugged by the tree. When his house elf, Splinter, packed his trunk to go back to Hogwarts he said thank you without thinking.   
Like all students of age, he was given the option to floo to Hogsmeade and walk back to school, instead of boarding the train in London. So it was only after dinner, when Longbottom and the girl Weasley confronted him in an empty corridor, that he found out Luna had been taken.  
“Do you know where she is?” Weasley growled, in accusation more than question.   
Of course he knew, where all the prisoners were kept. He nodded.  
“I can guess. There is nothing i can do”.  
“Coward” the girl hissed. Yes, he agreed.   
But Longbottom eyed him curiously and put a firm hand on his companion’s arm. “Luna said you have changed”.  
“And do you believe her?” Did he believe her himself?  
“No” Weasley said, but the wizard interjected “Why didn’t you use the Cruciatus, that day with Carrow?”  
Because i know about your parents, he thought, but that was personal, too. “Because you have to mean it”.  
Longbottom seemed somewhat satisfied and chewed on his lips like he wanted to ask more.  
“She is a bait” Draco added, because he wanted to say something. “They won’t hurt her”, because he wanted to believe it.  
“Is there a way you can give her a message?”  
“Me? No. But maybe there is a way”. Draco had an idea, as crazy as it was.  
“You will tell on us, get her killed”. The redhead accused him.  
“No, I don’t want anyone dead”. He replied tiredly.  
Longbottom dragged the girl a few meters away and they discussed animately for a few minutes. When they approached him again Weasley looked resigned and wary, and Longbottom was clutching a little black pouch. He opened it in front of Draco’s face and he saw something shiny and round.   
“Do you think you can get this to Luna? Will she be able to hide it?”  
Draco pondered about it. No one would suspect the girl to receive something from the outside, and it looked small enough to be safely stored in one of the niches between the dungeon bricks.   
“Yes” he affirmed.  
“It’s charmed to be used only by someone it recognises” Weasley added “no point in trying to use it against us”.  
Draco wanted to snarl at her. “I had no intentions to do so”.  
“I don’t trust you” The the other boy warned him “but we are desperate”.  
With a last apprehensive look, the two Gryffindors left.  
Two days after Draco sneaked out of the castle’s boundaries.   
“Splinter” The house elf bowed in front of him in a matter of seconds.   
“I have a mission for you” Draco said, putting a little gold coin in the rough hand of the creature and wishing that, for once, things will go his way.


	6. Two boys at the Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh man writing is much harder than i was expecting. I have what i want to happen figured out but then putting it into words is a complete different matter. So kudos to all writers, you are amazing.  
> Anyway this chapter has a few things taken from the original book but hopefully not too much to make it boring.
> 
> Enjoy.  
> Uh, also i wanted to add that in the last chapter i figured that Draco would agree to call Luna by first name because he didn’t really know her so he didn’t already have the habit to call her Lovegood. Im blabbing again but i want my mental process to come through, the why behind my choices.  
> And sorry about the lack of Harry and i know they are meant to love each other but i doubt that could happen without a few changes in their way of thinking and that takes time.  
> As per usual, if any samaritan wants to correct my errors please let me know or point them out in the comments

After Christmas break the situation at Hogwarts had degenerated further.  
When their friend went missing and rumours of the caught Muggleborns on the run had reached the school, Longbottom and his band of merry men had started to be more daring. The war was getting serious and these kids, bruise after cut, were looking in the eye of the enemy, defiant and still not broken.  
Draco couldn’t understand how, in front of assured torture, they still had it in them to fight the authority. So one day, when he found Longbottom attending to his bruises behind one of the Herbology greenhouses, he decided to corner the boy and ask him.  
The other wizard had acknowledged his help with Luna simply trough short nods in the corridors and quick hushed greetings, enough to let Draco know his plan was successful. He didn’t expect nor wanted a thank you. It was dangerous on both fronts to demonstrate any involvement, so they hadn’t spoken to each other since that time.  
“Why are you doing this, Longbottom? Surely not even you could be so stupid”.  
The Gryffindor jumped, automatically flattening against the wall.  
“Malfoy. What are you talking about?” He said, warily.  
Draco gestured at the open cut on the sleeve of Longbottom’s robe, where the curse had reached the skin. The fabric was soaked in blood.  
“I was aware that the inability of keeping your mouth shut was a Gryffindor’s trait, but this is edging on self arm”.  
“Why do you care?” The other boy challenged.  
“I don’t understand” Draco replied, voice soft an uncertain, like a confession.  
Longbottom studied him intently for a moment, and then replied “I saw when Harry did it. The way it gave people hope, the way he fought for them, for the truth. It was powerful, important”.  
The Gryffindor in front of him, the still lingering roundness of youth made rough by the wear of too many punishments, was far from the nervous boy Draco used to made fun of.  
“I am tired to be afraid, I want to make a difference” and with that he went back to his wounds, dismissing him. 

Draco was still thinking about Longbottom’s words when, a few days after, he found himself involuntary on his way to the astronomy tower. He stopped. I am tired to be afraid. I am tired to be afraid.  
He had faced up to the first five steps when he felt Blaise presence sliding beside him.  
“I’m coming with you” His friend’s baritone voice wasn’t asking for permission.  
When they reached the top of the staircase in silence, Draco’s breath was ragged. He wasn’t sure it was the steps or his fear of breaking down. He turned around, unable to go further.  
“You are not alone” Blaise said, gently.  
“We are all alone” he replied bitterly.  
They stood there, facing the spiralling staircase for a long time, each lost in their own mind. Alone.  
“Would you have done it?” Blaise asked eventually, because that was the point. The heart of the issue.  
“I know Snape did it at the end, but would you?”  
“No” Draco said, barely audible. “No” he repeated, louder.  
“I thought so”.  
His friend’s atonement of his sins irritated him.  
“I am a coward” he spat, because he was.  
“You are a survivor. We all are, trying to to see the end of this war, one way or another”.  
“But there are people out there, making a difference. Is that all we are, what we do? Just exist, at the side, hoping to somehow end up alive?”. Draco was angry. Ashamed. Useless.  
Blaise eyed him sadly, like Theo had “What difference can we make when dead?”.  
They descended without speaking, again.  
And Draco was surviving, but every day he asked himself more and more if it was enough.

Even with Christmas widely being the most popular of the holidays, Draco had always favourited Easter. Being used to have the best of everything with just a whim made the exchange of presents less exciting, and summer was too long and tedious. He found that Easter gave him a balanced respite from the busy schedule of the approaching exams, when life at Hogwarts was getting demanding and chaotic. When younger his parents, normally focused on his school career, would often take him somewhere nice for a few days, where they would just spend time being a family, mentions of school and achievements forgotten. In his constant pursue to come out on top, besting the other students to satisfy his father’s desires and his own ambitions, this time was a much needed break to just let himself be young and relaxed. On top of that, the Manor in spring was simply a sight to behold. The white stoney walls of his home looked regal and neat, a beautiful contrast to the gardens, that were coloured by an impressive array of blooming plants. The gravel path, that led visitors from the intricate iron gate to the imposing entrance door of the Manor, was edged on both sides by symmetrical French gardens, developing around two beautiful central fountains, frequent attractions for chirping birds, looking for refreshment and a place to play. But Draco’s pride had always been the area stretching to the left of the Manor, where all pretentiousness was abandoned in favour of a more natural landscape. Here, lost in the middle of groves of trees, were a lovely little pond and, just before the land touched the orchard, the raspberries bushes where Draco had found his secret corner of normalcy the summer before.  
But April wasn’t time for raspberries and Luna was in his house and things had changed. The Dark Lord was busy elsewhere and the prisoners in the dungeons weren’t screaming so Draco could almost pretend they didn’t exist. Almost. He hadn’t dared going to visit Luna, not with his aunt roaming the place like a wild beast. They weren’t friends and they had no reasons to be. She was alive, he knew as much, and he could only hope that after months in captivity that wasn’t the worse fate. He knew from experience what a prolonged period in a cage, even one without bars, could do to one’s sanity.  
It was the third day into the holidays when an house elf interrupted his family’s afternoon tea in one of the Manor’s fanciest drawing rooms to announce they had guests at the door. His mind was partially engaged by thoughts of Luna, so he barely acknowledged his mother’s worried expression when she left the room to tend to the visitors.  
He got a whiff of the stench before he saw the people. The strong odour of blood and dirt was out of place within the pristine four walls of the drawing room. Greyback. Draco had only ever seen the werewolf twice before, but he would never forget the scent of death that always seemed to accompany him. A small group of prisoners was being dragged into the room, bounded to each other, back to back. From his position on the armchair by the fireplace he could only spot the matted red hair of the tallest one. A quite tall one. Oh no. No no no. Draco swallowed.  
“What is this?” His father asked, while they both rose to face the group.  
“They say they’ve got Potter,” his mother replied. “Draco, come here.”  
Draco could see them all now, a group of four plus a small goblin, snarling ferociously at his captors. First he looked at Thomas, one of the Gryffindors student’s in Potter’s year, the only inconspicuous one between the prisoners. Then at the red haired one, Weasley. Shit. Granger’s bushy hair covered her face partially, but it was clearly her. Shit. Shit. And, sandwiched between his two friends, was the captive whom they claimed to be Potter. The boy was looking at the floor, eyes fixed on his ratty shoes, clearly avoiding his gaze. Draco didn’t want to look, either, but the other wizard’s face was bloated and stretched in an horrific way and for a moment he was convinced that person couldn’t be Potter. Potter, that had evaded the Dark Lord for so long even when so close in his grasp, had no business being in his house, after all.  
“Draco” his mother beckon him again, urging.  
Draco stepped closer, and the snatchers scooted the prisoners roughly so that he could see the boy better. He was afraid of what he would see. He kept his eyes levelled with the other wizard’s shoulders, that reached just about an inch below his own. He hadn’t seen Potter in a long time, but he was aware they were almost the same height by sixth year. The bones protruding too oddly to be healthy were an indication that the person in front of him was half starved and the wayward locks that almost reached his shoulders, curling just below the ears, were telling of a long period deprived of proper self care.  
“Well, boy?” Prodded the werewolf.  
Draco had to look up then. The other boy’s face was abnormally swollen and pink and the features were so distorted to be unrecognisable. The prisoner was still avoiding his eyes, his own kept downcast, but through the tiny slits in the puffed face Draco could see green irises. Potter, he knew. Merlin, even just by Wasley and Granger’s presence alone, logic wanted that the wizard in front of him was Potter. And Draco was a logical man. Still, his mind was working frantically to find an escape.  
“Well, Draco?” His father intercepted “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”  
He sounded excited and Draco knew the implications of being the ones to hand over Potter to the Dark Lord.  
No, he wanted to lie.  
“I can’t. . . I can’t be sure” he mumbled. Coward. He thought about his conversation with Blaise, about making a difference. But he also knew that, despite being an accomplished occlumen, he was panicking and that made him more exposed to mind attacks. And in that moment his mind was screaming POTTER.  
I need something, something to convince me this is not him, he thought helplessly.  
The people around him were getting agitated.  
“But look at him carefully, look! Come closer! Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv —”.  
His father pleading was interrupted by Greyback and he registered the two arguing in the background. He wanted to lie down and blend into the plush carpet.  
His father had gotten closer to Potter and was inspecting his face. “There’s something there,” he whispered, “it could be the scar, stretched tight. . .Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?”  
Draco was pulled closer and now mere inches from the other boy’s face, eyes scanning wildly for something. He would not look at the scar. He. Would. Not. And then he saw it, Potter’s nose, the only part of his physiognomy that wasn’t altered beyond recognition, was littered by a number of freckles. They were so faint, but for three that formed an almost perfect line on the right side of the bridge, that they were unnoticeable unless standing close. Intimately close. Draco had never been so near Potter and that detail, those tiny spots of brown on his school nemesis’s skin, helped him regain control. His Potter didn’t have freckles.  
“I don’t know,” he said more confidently and walked away toward the fireplace where his mother stood watching.  
After that there was his aunt, and Granger screaming. And screaming. Screams that curdled blood. Draco faced the wall and didn’t move. Coward. He thought of the boys in the dungeons, listening to their friend’s screams. He wasn’t behind bars but trapped all the same.  
They aren’t your friends, he tried to reason with himself. But Granger’s wails were torture.  
I gave her away, i gave them away. No matter that she was herself, no jinx to protect her identity like Potter’s, her pain was on his conscience.  
Blaise voice resonated in his ears like a mantra “We are just trying to survive, to see the end of this war a way or another”.  
Maybe death will be silent. No screams. Stop the screaming.  
Time was passing in a blur of following orders and waiting, his survival instinct taking control of his body like a puppeteer. Then his aunt touched her Dark Mark and Draco froze in terror.  
That was it. The end. A terrible scream ripped the air, but the voice was different, male. Weasley and Potter, having somehow escaped Wormtail, barged into the room.  
His aunt clutched tightly onto Granger and forced the boys to surrender their wands, asking Draco to pick them up.  
He held them apologetically, conflicted. Please, please, he wished for something to happen. With a crash, the enormous chandelier that was dangling from the ceiling fell into the floor, sending glass flying everywhere. He could feel several tiny cuts on his cheeks, blood slowly running into his shirt collar, but he couldn’t care. He finally spotted Potter, next to a colourfully dressed house elf that looked vaguely familiar, and let out a sigh of relief. Potter had to win the war, he knew now, and his heart relaxed upon seeing that the other boy was mainly unscathed. And then Potter was right there, in his space, tugging at the wands in his hand. Draco looked at the other boy’s face, now back to normal, and thought about the last time they talked, in the bathroom.  
“I am” he murmured. Scared. Sorry. Wrong.  
The green eyes widen slightly and in that quick second Draco thought the other wizard gave him an impercettibile nod. He barely had the time to register the absence of his wand that his mother was pulling him away, out of harm way, and Potter was gone.  
All Draco could see now was the destruction of the room and Granger’s blood pooling red on the floor.


	7. A boy at war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I’ve realised that Ive been using the chapter summaries for notes so I am trying to correct that from now on. Well, the battle of Hogwarts has begun. I reckon a couple more chapters before we go into completely unexplored territory but I think this chapter has only new stuff. The next two should have the room of requirements scene and Voldemort’s death. I really really want to write a scene that I have in mind that I think has never been done and I’m quite excited about but I think it would still be quite a few chapters. Harry into the next though.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy and if you want to tell me what you think about it, it would make me super happy as it’s almost my birthday. Fun fact, I do actually share a birthday with one of our heros. I won’t tell which, but all i can say is Leo at heart (although Pottermore placed me in Slytherin and I want to think I am a Ravenclaw).

Granger was alive. There had been so much blood. Red. But she was alive. There were alive. Luna. Potter. All of them.  
Draco was back in the Great Hall, listening to one of the Ravenclaws, a tall brunet called Boot, yelling the story of how the Golden Trio escaped Gringotts riding a dragon.  
Yes, they were alive, but barely. Draco clenched his teeth. What was Potter playing at! The Dark Lord had been furious when the boy had eluded him once more and Draco could only be thankful he was unimportant enough to be spared the worst of the rage.  
He had never seen Bellatrix so terrified. The Dark wizard was growing more and more agitated and Draco knew that, to act now when it was so risky for his life, Potter must be into something very important. He could feel the momentum building, things were about to happen. The end was near.  
The Carrows intimated for Boot to stop his cheerful praise of Potter and his friends. It’s all lies, they said. But Draco knew from the excited whispering going around the Hall that the students believed it. That they believe Potter was strong. That they had a chance to win the war.  
The Ravenclaw hushed but not even the promise of a particularly nasty detention could wipe the smirk off his face. From the look of admiration and interest in Boot’s eyes while he talked about the three Gryffindors, Draco wouldn’t be surprise if the boy was to jump on Granger at the first sight of her.  
The two wizards and one witch were becoming legends and Draco could understand why Longbottom said it gave people hope. The Carrows had been steadily losing the already unstable bit of power they held over the student body, and they were getting sloppy and nervous. The siblings punishments, already on the other side of legal, were becoming more violent and public. Draco had been afraid it wouldn’t be long before they let go of all pretences and go for the kill.  
Longbottom, that without Luna and the Weasley girl, who didn’t returned from the holidays, was the last standing leader of their little guerrilla group must had feared the same as, not long into the term, he disappeared.  
In the last weeks more and more students from the upper years had followed, vanishing into thin air under the Carrow’s noses.  
The school was getting ready.  
Draco tapped his new wand, his mother’s wand, on his leg under the table, a nervous habit he had picked up of late. Tap. Tap. Tap. He met Theo’s eyes and his heart clenched, the dreadful sensation of foreboding bubbling insistently in his stomach. 

Draco woke up at the uncomfortable feeling of the Dark Mark burning trough his arm. He was being summoned. He had fallen into a fidgety sleep so it didn’t took him long to be fully awake and receptive. He could hear Vincent and Greg stirring heavily in their beds. Of course, they knew. The Slytherin dorm was planned into a rectangular shape, 5 identical four posters lined one after the other neatly, with Draco’s the furthest from the door and Blaise’s the closest. Greg and Vince were crammed between Blaise and Theo and Draco knew they weren’t being courteous enough to think about their sleeping roommates. His suspicions were confirmed when he drew the curtains to stare at the ghostly white face of Theo.  
“What is happening?” Theo asked. He was shaking “Draco?”  
“I don’t know. It’s the Mark, I think —“  
“Hell yeh is the Mark, it is. Time you weaklings get your shit sorted” Vincent barking voice called from near the door, startling Blaise awake.  
“What the...” He cried, voice thick from sleep.  
“Draco” Theo urged, hysterical. He was bouncing from foot to foot, eyes wild and hair sticking up on the side he had been sleeping on. He still had a crease mark on his cheek and Draco didn’t want to say anything. He wanted to tell him to go back to sleep, that all was fine.  
“Theo, stay here. I’m going to check, but Hogwarts is safe. You know that”.  
“My father”. The other boy said, shaking his head violently, as if trying to wake up from a bad dream.  
“Yeah” Draco replied brokenly “Mine too”. I am one of them too, Theo.  
“Fuck Draco, you know what the Mark means!” Theo was almost shouting.  
“You’re a real fairy, Nott. You comin’, Draco?” Greg called, a stupid grin on his face.  
Theo shot him a look of disdain and grabbed Draco’s forearm tightly.  
“I am just checking, Theo” He tried to reassure him. On his way out he whispered to Blaise “Stay. Stay with him. Please”.  
The other boy eyed him warningly  
“Don’t do anything stupid, Draco. You are better than this”.  
Draco left.

They had barely made it out of the common room, when professor Slughorn came into view.  
He was panting heavily and his voice came out uneven when he demanded “What are you doing out of bed?”.  
Draco’s gaze fell uncomfortably upon his left arm and the Professor twitched.  
“Ah. Very well, and where do you think you are going? All students are required to follow me to the Great Hall” and he gestured back at the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories.  
Vincent and Greg made a move for their wands and for a moment Draco thought they were going to fight. At the end they must have realised their spell-casting wasn’t at the Professor’s level and, with two disgrunted sound of agreement, they followed the man inside.  
After a quick Sonorus Slughorn booming voice resonated trough the dormitories and bleary eyed students started to appear in the Common Room, until the place was filled with squirming young people, insisting for answers. The Professor tried to maintain a certain order and explained them that the castle was under attack and they were required to follow him to the Great Hall where further actions to assure their safety would take place.  
Draco could see the terror in the eyes of the smaller children, too young and innocent to fully grasp the meaning of what was going on but aware that it was bad.  
“Is it true, Draco?” Pansy voice murmured from behind. “Are they here?”.  
Draco looked at her, and she was still a child too, they all were. She wasn’t ready. They knew this moment was going to come but none of them was prepared for it to happen.  
Draco thought about the first time his mother had told him about death. He was four and playing by the pond in the garden, building a miniature castle with pebbles and dirt, while Narcissa read in the shade of the trees. The castle, like all castles that were worthy to be called so, needed pointy towers and flags, so Draco went to look for sticks in the nearby bushes. There, hidden by the foliage, was a swan. Draco knew that swans weren’t meant to be touched, his mother had said so many times. They might bite you, darling, she had chided gently. But it was so beautiful. And Draco touched it, and the swan didn’t bite. Its head fell to the side, in a weird angle, and Draco touched it again. And again. He poked it and the swan did not move. Then his mother came, and she hugged him and told him of things that sounded strange about falling asleep and moving on.  
Draco realised now that war for the children of Hogwarts, these scared kids before him, had been like that swan for his four years old self. A concept so big, so abstract when reality was there in front of them but still looking so perfect, so unbroken, that it didn’t fully hit. The swan was still beautiful, so Draco had listen to words of pain and finality but his heart stayed light because if death looked so perfect maybe it wasn’t so bad at all.  
“Yes” he said to Pansy, because life, real life, wasn’t perfect and sometimes it was bad indeed.  
“What are we going to do?” She asked, imploring for an answer. Pansy was a follower and, without a guide, she was lost.  
Draco didn’t have a response to that.  
“I don’t want to die” He heard her say.

Potter was in the castle. Draco had known it already, from the Mark, but it had been surreal to actually see him there, still there even when the Dark Lord demanded for his life and his life only. Potter could have fucked off to some desert island or far away land and declared to hell with all that shit. Honestly, some people would have done it. Most, probably.  
Potter was in the castle and Draco was looking for Greg and Vince. He had noticed the vicious gleam in their eyes during the silent exchange they shared while slipping away from the evacuating crowd, and he knew they were planning something.  
He was looking for them but what he found was Theo.  
Theo stood there facing a man with his same blue eyes but not much else in common. Draco froze, just barely hidden by the corner.  
“You have never really bothered to ask, have you? You just assumed this was the life i wanted, too. That i wanted this just like Stephen” Theo was yelling to his father, uncaring of the dangers his loud voice could attract.  
“You are nothing like your brother” the older Nott spat, looking at his only surviving child with mixed emotions.  
“No, right, I am not. I am the defective son, isn’t it so father? Pray tell, what bothers you the most? The fact that I don’t particularly enjoy torturing Muggles or the fact that I like the wrong bits?” Theo’s voice was hard but he was crying.  
“You are sick” his father said with a tremor.  
“No —“ but Draco had seen the figure approaching, wand raised in his friend’s direction, and had jumped in front of Theo, shouting “Stupefy”.  
The Death Eater collapsed. Draco knew the spell was weak, his new wand barely enough for basic enchantments. They didn’t have much time.  
“Where the hell is Blaise?” He demanded.  
As if summoned the other boy appeared, mumbling angrily “Theo, what the fuck!”. Blaise sighed in relief at his two friends, but he still appeared crossed.  
The Death Eater on the floor began to stir.  
“We have to go” Draco cried, pushing the other boys.  
Theo’s father, that up until then had looked at them in shock, gazed quickly at his companion on the floor.  
“I never wanted Stephen to die” he said sadly, to his son or to nobody in particular.  
“No, neither did I” Theo replied, and they ran.  
Draco told them to go, to get out and this time for real. He needed his wand.


	8. A boy, burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it took me ages to write this but my partner injured himself and it has been quite hectic.  
> A few notes on the chapter:  
> Some parts are stolen from the original.  
> It’s mainly reflections.  
> I know in the book Draco calls Crabbe and Goyle by surname but I thought that was a bit too impersonal for someone going trough the mental changes I am making him have.  
> I know this is supposed to be Drarry but it’s going to be slow getting there. I hope that’s ok.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter, it was quite hard to write so I hope it’s not too repetitive/boring.  
> Also, I find that its hard to change your ways, to do something that has not been in your character so far, even once your mind is changing, so I hope this explains some of Draco’s actions. He is changing but it will take time to reflect in his behaviour.  
> As usual, let me know if you spot any mistakes or things that don’t make much sense. I think as an illustrator im quite visual in my writing as in i write things like they were an image, so I am not sure it always works. I really want to do some artwork on this as well so maybe one day

Draco found Greg and Vincent on their way to the seventh floor. He stopped them at the top of the stairs, pushing them into an alcove.  
He thought he had lost them, for a moment, when he had turned a corner and they had suddenly vanished. The light bouncing oddly off the steps and the shift in the air had given away their poorly performed Disillusionment charms, although the one he casted on himself with his mother’s wand wasn’t much better. He was aware that only the chaos happening around them had made it possible to go trough the castle unnoticed.  
“What do you want, Draco?” The largest of the two, Vincent, asked menacingly. Incidentally he was also the brighter, so he had taken upon Draco’s role as a leader.  
“Just to know what you are looking for” he replied levelly.  
“The boy, we gonna bring ‘im to the Dark Lord” Vince laughed like it was a good idea.  
Draco was right, they were after Potter.  
“And the Mudblood, too” Greg added proudly.  
“It’s red, Granger’s blood. I’ve seen it” he said, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference.  
“So? ‘S still scum” Vincent grunted. Which was a bit hypocrite, Draco thought, coming from someone who could barely put two grammatically correct sentences together.  
You were just like that, he reminded himself. You, with your pride in your superior intellect, used to think just like that. Draco had never actually believed Granger’s blood to be the colour of mud, but the sight of it, staining the rich carpet the exact shade of red as his own, had been a powerful image in the confused reevaluation of his beliefs. She, with her red blood and her different parents, was a brighter witch than the combination of both the pureblooded goons standing in front of him. Not even his younger self had been able to deny it.  
“You are a Malfoy and as such you are better than most. There is no wrong in acknowledging it, so put your inferiors in their place” 11 years old Draco had been lectured by his father just before boarding the first of many trains to Hogwarts.  
You are better, the words had resonated in his ears, but reality at school had turned out to be different.  
17 years old Draco now recognised what the child he had been did without realising. He had picked his “inferiors”, his “enemies” not between the students that were somewhat less talented than him but among the peers that presented the most challenges to his own superiority. Granger, with her brain and her dedication. Potter, with his fame and his courage. And even Weasley, that was deemed a superior choice by the only person to ever reject him. Him, that was raised to see himself as desirable company in the eyes of everyone and that couldn’t understand why this time he wasn’t.  
Only a child, who grew up on golden pillows like a prince but found out that for the rest of the world he was just one of many. Not superior. Nor better. Yes, he did have his share of admirers, money can buy you as much, but even then Draco knew it wasn’t genuine. It wasn’t because of who he was as much as for what he had.  
Oh father, what fools we have been, living our life mocking people for being less when we feared they were, in truth, much more, Draco pondered sadly. The perception of not actually being that special that had hit him hard that time at 11, when Potter refused his hand for a Weasley, came back stronger and, more than ever before, he felt small and insignificant. The people that had worshipped him when his family was well known and influential were quick to turn their backs once the Malfoys had lost it all. And at the end, now that it could truly be The End, he was alone.  
He could hear people in the corridor, voices lost in the tumult of the battle. The sound of an explosion echoed trough the walls, shaking the stone structure like it was a castle made of cards. Like it could break and collapse at any point.  
A cloud of dust enveloped them and Draco coughed to free his lungs. The battle was degenerating fast.  
He knew that some of the Death Eater had managed to sneak their way into the dungeons already, probably looking for their children, but so far most of them had been contained outside the perimeters of the school. Now it was clear that Hogwarts was losing ground. Draco’s stomach churned and twisted and, while the world crumbled around him, he thought of his parents. Once proud, powerful. Now wandless, broken, at the mercy of people they had never showed mercy for. He last saw them at the Manor and even then he knew well that their goodbye, for once full of emotions, could have been the last. He thought of them, that had birthed him into this life hoping to give him everything and were now denied the simple wish to see their son for what could be the final time. He had no doubts the Malfoys, fallen from grace, weren’t between the lucky ones who were helped to sneak into the school in search of their children.  
He hoped that if death had to come it would look as peaceful as the swan’s, seemingly asleep in the gentle shade of the bushes. Fast, neat, so that his parents could have a body, his body, to mourn.  
Would anyone else miss him, if he died, the way people would miss Potter? Potter, that had the name and the means to gain a crowd of adoring followers but instead spent his time building few but strong relationships. Meaningful. Important. Loving. He wished he could tell that 11 years old child that boarded the train feeling like a king that nobody would care for the shiny crown resting atop of the untended and forgotten grave. That a few people standing next to you are much more precious than the idolising thousand looking up at you from below.  
And Draco was scared, because he never wanted to die, but now all he wanted was another day. A day to tell Theo he was sorry, that he was much more than a secret of a boy that gave importance to the opinion of many instead of the feelings of the few that mattered. A day to assure his parents that he loved them even now, more now. To look at Greg and Vincent like equals, like friends, like it wasn’t too late. To tell Granger that he knew his blood was just as red as hers and that she was a witch just as he was a wizard. To tell Potter he understood why he didn’t shake his hand all those years before.  
One last day, to make all different choices from the ones of a child that didn’t know any better.  
Draco didn’t want to die, but most of all he didn’t want to live in regret.

Vincent and Greg were getting restless. “C’mon! I can her ‘em”, Vincent said refreshing his Disillusionment charm.  
He was right, the battle still hadn’t reached the seventh floor and, in between the sounds from the fights below, they could hear chatter coming closer, from the direction of the Room of Hidden Things. Their voices were so familiar. Potter was yelling at someone frantically, but what caught Draco’s attention was Granger scream of delight. He emerged from the alcove, making sure to stand close to the wall to maximise his coverage, and looked incredulously as Granger jumped on Weasley and kissed him full on the mouth. It was strange, people doing something as mundane as kissing when the war was blowing around them, but it felt oddly right. They still had hope, still had good things to hold onto. Maybe it was easier not to die if you really wanted to see what there was to live for.  
Potter brought his friends back to reality and the moment was broken but the telling tinge of pink still lingered on their cheeks, their tired expressions a little bit brighter. The trio walked in front of the wall three times and Draco felt Vince and Greg move behind him. He made it trough the door just in time.  
Draco had spent most of sixth year in the Room of Hidden Things, and it was like coming home. A terrible home, full of bad memories and loneliness, the home you were forced into and couldn’t avoid because of obligations, but from where you wanted nothing more than a way out. Potter had unwillingly been his lifeline, the light at the end of the dark tunnel of his despair, showing him there was still a door out of this place that was claiming his sanity. He had given him what Draco needed, the knowledge he was not alone. And now here they were, together, somewhere Draco thought he would never set his foot in again, and he was standing behind two people that wanted the other boy dead. He felt sick. All the noises from outside had died and the room was eerily silent. He had never bothered to look around, never wanted to, but now his eyes were caught by the immensity of the place, a huge labyrinth of precariously stacked objects created by centuries of students stumbling upon the room they just so appeared to need.  
Vincent and Greg lifted their charms and moved in the direction of the voices, barely containing their excitement. Potter and his friends, clearly not expecting company, were discussing animatedly about a diadem that was hidden somewhere in the room. They sounded urgent and Draco imagined it had something to do with the Trio breaking into his aunt’s vault the day before. They were looking for objects of a certain importance, and his curiosity was spiked despite the circumstances. Not for the first time Draco wondered what information the other students had on the Dark Lord that wasn’t known even by his closest followers. The destiny of the world in the hands of a bunch of kids. Draco spied the grim covered faces of the three Gryffindors from a slit in between a stack of chairs and they looked so young. They were dirty, and underfed, and angular and oh so young. But then Draco replayed seeing Gryffindor winning the House Cup in first year, and them three, sheepish and embarrassed and a bit smug while the rumours travelled around the room of little children that did things most adults couldn’t. He thought of second year and two boys in the Chamber of Secrets. Of third year, fourth, fifth. Dementors, dragons, Cedric’s body while Potter screamed, broken but alive. Death Eaters. His father. Draco knew his father was a powerful wizard, but still they made it out. Draco had hated them for it, for all the times their names were on everybody’s mouth. Blamed it on sheer luck, the luck of a young boy that lost everything and still had to face so much. Draco had called it luck because he knew he was better, his parents told him he was, and some people like Vince and Greg even believed it. So it had to be luck, or stupidity, because Draco had been in the Forbidden Forest with Potter, he had seen what people like his father were capable of, and all he could do was being terrified. But Potter was scared too, he had said so, and the wall Draco had been building methodically to keep the truth away had collapsed. Crumbled. Maybe it wasn’t luck, maybe he was just a boy, with friends that loved him so much they were family, a boy who didn’t have a choice. Because his life was written since he was a baby and so he was scared and brave and faced it, in the best way he could and with those people that loved him not because he was a hero but because he was him. They were a team, with different skills and with some of the madness of youth that keeps you going even in the face of danger. And, perhaps, with a bit of luck too.  
He looked at these three young faces, and at their eyes. Brown. Blue. Green. And inside, a fire burning. The destiny of the world in the hands of a bunch of kids, and they had a chance.  
But Draco was the enemy, a pathetic one at that, in the grand scheme, but one nonetheless. An unwilling one, he wanted to shout. A stupid one, please see that, read my mind, look at my heart. Red. Guilty, wrong. But not black.  
He followed Greg and Vincent, who had waited for Potter to separate from the group like predators. One. Alone. Easier. Draco wanted to run, get out of there, tell Potter he was just casually strolling in the room. Nothing to do with the other two, thank you very much. Potter who was startled. Clutching Draco’s wand.  
“That’s my wand you’re holding, Potter” he heard his voice saying, stupidly.  
The other boy seemed to agree, as he addressed him sarcastically “Not anymore. Winners, keepers, Malfoy. Who’s lent you theirs?”  
Those were the first words they had exchanged after the meeting in the bathroom and it was surreal.  
“My mother” he replied, softly.  
Potter laughed humourlessly and Draco thought damn you, I don’t hate you anymore. I don’t want to do this. From his expression, the other wizard didn’t either. This wasn’t about them. It was bigger than petty school rivalries.  
“We’re gonna be rewarded. We ’ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you to ’im.” Vincent was saying to the Gryffindor, who looked tired and annoyed. He was trying to buy time, Draco could see that.  
Suddenly Weasley’s voice came from somewhere to their right, calling out to his friend.  
Vincent shot a curse in his direction and Draco panicked, grabbing his arm to stop him from casting a second one. It was irrational, he knew he was playing with fire, standing in the middle of two flames that could easily burn him. He wasn’t the Trio’s friend, he had no apparent reasons to stop the other Slytherin from attacking them, at least in their eyes. But inside him, he knew he didn’t believe that. He was sure of whom he wanted to win the war. Even if he was the enemy in it, even if maybe it was too late for him to be on the other side. So he stopped Vincent, trying to rationalise, and the other boy looked at him in disbelief “Who cares what you think? I don’t take your orders no more, Draco. You an’ your dad are finished.”  
And then it was chaos. Draco saw Vincent aiming a Cruciatus at Potter and cried hysterically “STOP. The Dark Lord wants him alive —“ because that was reasonable. That might stop him.  
Vincent laughed, shoving him off.  
Draco watched frozen as curses flew around him for long seconds, until his wand was knocked off his hand and rolled under a cabinet. Wandless. Scared. Coward.  
Vincent and Greg were aiming at Potter, for the kill.  
Draco prayed for some of that Gryffindor sheer luck. “Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM” he yelled, wandless. Helpless. But that was enough distraction to give Potter the needed time to turn the fight around.  
Greg was stunned, his body falling ungraciously at Draco’s feet, who had just enough time to register it before Granger screamed. Like in the Manor. High, loud, terrified. Draco saw the flames before the two boys running away from them. They were huge, red. Hot. The room temperature grew quickly, suffocating. The fire was mutating, forming a gigantic pack of fiery beasts: Flaming serpents, chimaeras, and dragons rose and fell and rose again, and the detritus of centuries on which they were feeding was thrown up in the air into their fanged mouths, tossed high on clawed feet, before being consumed by the inferno. Fiendfyre. Draco cursed. Then he looked at Greg’s unconscious form, and he knew he had to run but not like this. Not with Greg burning because he wanted to live. So Draco dragged him along, desperation making him stronger. He was still so slow. Too slow. Vincent had vanished and so had the Gryffindors. That’s it, Draco thought while he pushed Greg on top of a pile of desks, an useless attempt when the flames where so close he could feel the ground burning the soles of his shoes. That’s the end. Not what he had imagined, not what he had hoped. But death never is, a hope. Draco held Greg tighter and breathed in air and smoke. He opened his eyes to a hand dangling in front of his face, Potter hoovering in the air on a broomstick, looking determined. The grip was weak and sweaty and Greg was heavy. Draco knew it was pointless even before his hand slipped away, but still wouldn’t let his friend go. Death, a terrible one, but he wasn’t going to leave Greg to save himself. Not this time, not when it was the last thing he would do after fucking up so many times before.  
Weasley’s furious voice joined Potter, and Greg was lifted up into the air. Draco felt his own arms around a thin waist, and thanked the sheer luck and the brave heart of a boy who did what was right and not what was easy. Potter was a magnificent flyer and Draco wanted to reach the sky. For a moment he forgot about fire and danger and remembered the Quidditch pitch on sunny days, the adrenaline of the challenge. A worthy opponent, he had secretly liked that. The smoke filled his lungs, making him feel dizzy, and he gripped the other boy harder. He could feel Potter’s ribs under his fingers and dug into the soft spot under the cage, just a thin fabric separating flesh from flesh. Draco felt the fleeting need to touch skin before realising Potter had changed course.  
“What are you doing, what are you doing, the door’s that way!” He screamed in the other’s boy ears, but the Gryffindor ignored him and dived. Faithful to his mission till the end, to succeed or die trying. Dying hugging Potter. Draco almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the thought. He shifted closer and closed his eyes. Next thing he was laying face down on the hard ground of the seventh floor corridor.  
He was alive. He looked wordlessly at his companions and at Greg, still unconscious between Weasley and Granger. Vincent was nowhere to be seen, and even before voicing his fear Draco knew he was dead. The second death in the stream of casualties to wash on Draco’s bank. To touch him personally.  
When Professor Burbage had fallen lifelessly in front of him he had been horrified, marking his passage into adulthood, where things weren’t always nice and cottoned. But with Vincent’s death, by his own heedless hand in the pursuit of a glory Draco once thought he wanted too, he never felt younger. Unprepared. Once again he realised that this was real, that he was alive but people were dying and will die.  
He stared in the direction of Potter’s retreating form, still unmoving for long after the other wizard was gone, words of thank you on his lips unable to be voiced.


	9. A boy’s wand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am starting to realise how long it actually takes to write down something that seems so simple in your mind.  
> So kudos to all those people that write a lot just for fun because this is killing me and I am not even sure it’s really worth it :)
> 
> Anyway, this chapter came a bit faster.I really want the story to move along! 
> 
> Mistakes, please say something.
> 
> Thank you, enjoy

Being raised in a traditional wizardry family Draco knew since childhood all about the importance of one’s wand. The intimate connection between a wizard or a witch and their wand was considered sacred and the moment they were allowed to get their first was something all magical children waited impatiently and excitedly for. When really young Draco had often admired his parents’ wands, running his little fingers reverently down the smooth wood. Both his father’s Elm one and his mother’s, made of Black Walnut, were fairly similar in length and colour, surely another sign that his parents were meant to be. Draco had found them very elegant and beautiful, especially his father’s, which was an heirloom and had been in the Malfoy’s family for many generations. When in the gardens, alone but for the watchful company of Splinter, he had often picked up the best sticks he could find and pretended to be his father, imagining the day when the legacy would be passed onto him. So, once the time had come to go to Ollivanders, albeit knowing it was likely a temporary arrangement until he would take his father’s place as the head of the Manor, Draco couldn’t wait to meet his wand. The wand that would assist him in performing his first spell and that would serve him trough most of his formative years. It was an important affair. And, as for all important things, Draco had been nervous. He had known what to expect but not what it would feel like because, as permissive and indulgent his parents were on many things, they were as strict and formal on traditions, so Draco had never held a wand before. He had touched a wand. He had yearned to just go for it and grab one, for an instant, maybe just his mother’s. Flick it, once. He had imagined he was holding one, refined and polished and lovely like it had to be. But he was raised to know better, to control his desires. 11 years old Draco had entered the gloomy shop of Garrick Ollivanders a virgin. The first wand had been a disappointment, and in the impatient mind of a child he had wondered if the whole experience was overrated. It had taken 4 wands before it happened. As soon as the hawthorn stick, lighter in colour than Narcissa’s and Lucius’s, simpler but equally sophisticated, had been placed into his left hand, Draco had known. It had been like being reunited with a part of himself that had been missing without his knowledge. His wand, that had waited years, patiently sitting on a dusty shelf, for him and him only. They were a match and Draco couldn’t imagine having any other. In that moment he came to respect the profound connection between a person and their own wand so much that he had never dared to touch another’s. Of course, in school he had bragged about all the magic he mastered at home as a child, but in truth the Hawthorn had been his first and only.  
Then his wand had been taken, gone. He hadn’t blamed Potter because in that split second of adrenaline and danger there hadn’t been time for thinking about respect and code.  
His mother’s wand had worked just fine, thanks to their common blood.  
Still, it was different and his magic had never been the same, never at its full potential.  
Yes, Draco knew a wand was personal, so he looked down at the rumpled body lying on the floor, and couldn’t do it. In the middle of a battle, defenceless and in need of a weapon, he couldn’t do it. Even in the name of survival, even when the person in front of him wouldn’t need it again anyway, he couldn’t get himself to take something so important. It felt wrong.  
Draco kneeled to look at the student instead. Because it was a student, laying face down on the cold ground, hit cowardly from behind. He was wearing dark robes on top of a burnt sienna jumper, his wand still held awkwardly in his right hand, partially hidden in the crook of his neck. He must have been running and had fallen down before even realising what was happening, his arm stretched in front of him to defend himself. But the danger had struck unexpectedly, dastardly avoiding direct confrontation with a child. Draco was disgusted.  
He rolled him gently to the side and although the boy wasn’t wearing any House colours, his face was familiar. He was one of the Gryffindors in Potter’s fan club, his mousy hair sticking on his pale forehead covering partially the eyes Draco was used to see behind camera lenses. He couldn’t remember the name but he was sure the student was one or two years below his own, despite being small enough to pass for a fourth year. He must have sneaked away from the crowd of evacuating pupils in the same way he and the other Slytherin did, just to die alone in a corridor.  
Draco stared helplessly into the pale, blank eyes, before closing them and tucking the boy’s wand safely in the internal pocket of the robes, just above his heart.  
“He was a Muggleborn. He came back just for this, he really believed in Harry. Nobody noticed, you see. He was underage”.  
Draco turned around to see Luna. A few feet behind her, stood a Hufflepuff boy, Macmillan, watching him with a look of distrustful curiosity.  
He felt the need to defend himself, to explain it wasn’t what it looked like.  
“I’m wandless” he said, putting his hands up in front of his face, open and palms facing the other two students. “I didn’t do it”.  
Luna smiled sadly “We know, we saw what you did. He would have liked it, his wand was quite precious to him”.  
Draco was at loss for words, so she continued “It’s different, for the Muggleborns. They don’t have magic all around them when they go home, as a reminder of who they are. Just their wands.”  
Draco reflected on that, on the Muggleborn students that had to go back to a world they didn’t completely fit in any longer, where their parents and relatives could do their best but would never truly understand them, understand the tales of Hogwarts and the excitement of magic running inside them. Where they had to hide the truth from neighbours and often extended family. From the children they grew up with, friends.  
And then, when back at school with other wizards and witches, people like Draco would make them feel as they didn’t belong, they weren’t deserving.  
He had been an outcast himself, in the last year, never finding a place where he was truly comfortable, and knowing what it meant he felt shame for his actions.  
He looked at the young Gryffindor that would never go back to either of his worlds and wondered if his parents even knew of the war that was going on. Of the magnitude of it. And of their son, that died to protect a reality that would never welcome them fully.  
With each death he had witnessed, Draco’s beliefs had fallen one by one, like corpses, like victims of the war. The only positive victims of this stupid war, he supposed, for he was a changed person. He vowed that, if he had any, he would raise his children to be different from the boy he had been. With respect, to never make another feel inadequate when, like the son of Muggles that had died for the future of Wizards, they were just trying to be themselves.  
In between the horrors, he had learned a few lessons.  
“Not many would have done what he did. He was a brave wizard” he said, to validate the boy’s actions. The young wizard’s last act. And he was killed spinelessly by a coward, likely a pureblood that felt superior but couldn’t even look a child in the eyes when striking, he wanted to add. He was angry.  
Luna had crouched next to him and was softly caressing the boy’s hair away from his face. “Goodnight, Colin” She murmured. The Hufflepuff with her came closer, looking around nervously.  
“Luna, we have to go. We can move him somewhere safe for —“  
But the wizard’s words were interrupted by a terrible sound that seemed to come from all around them.  
“You have fought,” said the high, cold voice of the Dark Lord, “valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.  
Draco shivered and saw his companions doing the same.  
“Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured. I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”  
One hour. Luna looked worried. Macmillan was chewing his bottom lip apprehensively, glancing back and forth from Draco to the Gryffindor’s body. He seemed to have come to a decision, because he moved to stand behind the boy’s head and reached to grab him under the armpits. “Help me, will you?” He asked, nodding in Draco’s direction.  
Draco blanched “Me? I am not sure i would be welc —“  
“Draco, no one would care” reassured Luna. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder and he felt like crying.  
He blinked a few times, eyes stinging, and took hold of the Gryffindor’s legs, one under each arm. He was so light.  
They carried the body in silence to the Great Hall, were Finnegan saw them and came to help. He gave Draco a brief glance but nobody said anything. Draco let him take over and hovered by the door. It took him a while to notice Luna, who had stayed behind as well and was now staring at the line of bodies covering the middle of the Hall. He noticed a group of red heads and realised that one or more of the Weasley’s didn’t make it. Granger stood nearby with the youngest of the siblings, arms around each other, and Draco knew it wasn’t her Weasley.  
Potter was missing. He suddenly thought of Voldemort’s words and turned to Luna. “Do you think Potter —“  
“Harry” she corrected, distractedly.  
“Do you think Harry will go?” His voice sounded brittle.  
“I think Harry wouldn’t want any more people to die”, she said, looking at her friends. “I like Harry” she added, more to herself, and with that Draco watched her walk away to join the group. 

The hour was almost up. Draco had helped a little to look for injured people, but mostly he had stayed out of the way of the mourners. The time was ticking. Fast. An hour was barely any time at all, but dragging on forever. A slow torture that was over too soon. He had kept an eye out for any sign of Potter, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. The hour was almost up.  
Granger bumped into him, but she barely acknowledged it, looking frantically around. She held Weasley’s hand firmly in her own, dragging the ginger impatiently behind.  
“I told you, Ron. He was behind us in the Great Hall and then he was gone”.  
Weasley looked scared “Damn you, Harry! Do you think — ?” But he couldn’t finish.  
Granger spotted him and cried “Malfoy, have you seen Harry? Neville! Neville, we are looking for Harry. He was with us but we lost him”.  
He saw Longbottom approaching them from the front door, wearing an alarmed expression.  
“Hermione. Ron. I, —“  
“Harry, have you seen him?” Weasley prodded and the other boy looked in the direction of the fields.  
“Yes, I thought you knew. He said you knew! I met him a bit ago, he told me about the snake, he said you guys had a mission”.  
“The snake? He told you about the sn . . . Fuck, Neville! Where did he go?”  
Longbottom looked back towards the big oak door, shaking his head slowly “Out. . .outside”.  
Weasley’s eyes widened in horror and Granger squeezed his hand, tears trailing down her cheeks “Oh, Harry . . .”  
Draco had known it. Deep in his heart, he had known Luna was right. After all those years, he knew Potter, at least a little. And so did the Dark Lord. Voldemort had used the right words, and Potter, Harry, had gone to the forest. He had known it and still it was a shock.  
People were rushing outside and he didn’t want to go, didn’t want confirmation. They were screaming, Potter was dead.  
Potter was dead.  
Harry was dead.

Harry wasn’t dead.  
Draco had made it out just in time to see Longbottom being set aflame, his head trapped inside the burning Sorting Hat. Longbottom, that had challenged Voldemort openly, to give the survivors that Hope Draco had come to understand the importance of. The sight of the fire had taken him back to the Room of Hidden Things. He had launched himself forward, without thinking. With him, many others.  
But it had all happened so quickly. One minute Longbottom was fighting for his life, the next Hell had broken loose. The silencing charm Voldemort had casted upon the crowd had been lifted and people had started yelling while the Earth trembled under the weight of the giants. The Gryffindor had taken advantage of the chaos to free himself, pulling an impressive sword out of the Sorting Hat. Draco had watched in fascination as, with a swift motion, the head of Lord Voldemort’s horrible pet had been cut clean, rolling onto the ground.  
Then someone, the Groundskeeper, shouted “HARRY... HARRY, WHERE IS HARRY?”  
Draco barely had the time to register the words that the crowd started to push their way inside, dragging him along. He craned his neck to look at the spot where Potter’s body was a few moments before, and it was empty.  
Harry was gone. Somehow, Draco didn’t know how, Harry was gone. He wasn’t able to resist the the mob any longer so he let himself be guided back to the Great Hall. It was chaos, but Harry Potter was alive. He had to be.  
Someone was calling his name, voice desperately trying to raise above the noise. And then arms were around him, his mother blond head buried deep inside the crook of his neck.  
“Draco! Draco! Oh. . . Draco” she sobbed, holding him like he was the only thing that ever mattered.  
“Mum . . .”  
“He said you were alive. . . He said it, but I needed to see for myself. I was so scared”  
“W-who? Mum . . .” He hugged her back, forgetting about the world around them. She was still shaking hysterically, wetting the collar of his shirt “Oh Draco, I am so sorry. . . So sorry”.  
He looked up and met his father’s eyes. The man had never looked worse, but his eyes were alive once again. He breathed in twice, slowly, closing them in pain and relief. Then he looked back at Draco “Son. . .”  
And Draco cried.

The war was over. From his little corner where the world belonged only to him and his parents, Draco had heard the muffled sounds of the battle still going on. They were wandless, but it didn’t matter, they were together, one way or another. But it had been quick, and between whispered conversations with his mother, he had listened to fragmented pieces of the one happening between Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort. Potter had been calm, levelled, powerful. He had talked about wands and about love. He had even talked about Draco. And the other man arrogance had killed him, at the end. Potter had stood there, untainted. Tired, exhausted, wand still raised while the crowd had slowly realised what had happened. Then reality fell on them like rain, refreshing, cleansing. They had won, the war was over. The remaining Death Eaters were apprehended and Draco felt inadequate, but nobody spared more than a few glanced for his family. The Great Hall was cleaned, the bodies moved and the injured sent to the infirmary. The tables were put back in place and food started to arrive. People were everywhere, laughing and reuniting with their loved ones. He and his parents sat closely together at the more secluded end of the Ravenclaws table. Draco wasn’t hungry but his mother pushed some bread into his hands. He was just starting to break it apart when a shadow fell onto the table. He raised his head slowly, afraid it was someone coming to tell them they weren’t welcome, but he met green eyes. Draco’s own widened in surprise and Potter held out his wand “This is yours, I don’t need it anymore. I am not sure it will work as well as it used to, but it’s your wand”.  
Draco’s heart was hammering in his chest, and his gaze darted in disbelief from the Hawthorn wand back to the boy that just won a war and still was there to return what wasn’t his. “Why?”  
“As I said, it isn’t mine. And I remember. . . I remember what it felt like when I went to Ollivanders and got my Holly one. My wand. And this is yours”.  
Draco was frozen. The other boy placed the Hawthorn wand awkwardly on the table next to the bread basket, brushing slightly on Narcissa, that had been looking at him all the time, in the process. Draco swore his mother and Potter exchanged a silent conversation.  
Then Luna came next to Potter “Ready?”. The boy nodded and she smiled. “I will distract them. Go”.  
She yelled something about one of her weird creatures and with a swift motion Potter pulled something on top of his head and vanished.  
“Thank you. Thank you. . . Harry” Draco murmured to the air. For more than just my wand. Thank you.


	10. Just a boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the quote Narcissa makes is from “Sill Life With Woodpecker”. Great book, so read it. Anyway, I remembered it and I think it fits my purposes so I used and twisted the origins a bit.  
> Well, the war is finally over so the tones are going to be lighter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :) It makes me super happy to see views and kudos

The letter arrived a few weeks after his birthday, just like the one that told him he was admitted into Hogwarts 8 years before. He was having breakfast with his mother in the little space by the kitchen they had refurnished for that purpose. The dining hall held too many bad memories and this arrangement felt cosier, more like home. His father was at the Ministry, giving his statement on what he knew about the other Death Eaters involved during the war. Draco had been absolved on the fact that he had been young. Just a boy. And, despite his actions had lead to casualties, he had never actually delivered the last blow. He had stood in front of the Wizengamot feeling small and lucky. It was Dumbledore’s wish, someone had said, and so he was free. His mother had never been marked and was involved only on the side, only until the matter touched her family personally. And then, she had lied to Voldemort. For her son. For Potter, someone had said again. And so she was free. His father had informations, and his testimony was important. Valuable. Enough to let him out with just a minor sentence. House arrest, restrained usage of magic. They were free, and Draco felt grateful but uneasy.  
The envelope was small, bearing the Hogwarts crest on an emerald seal. The owl had dropped it in the centre of the table and was now hooting in disdain. Draco just stared, until his mother offered the animal a piece of ham and picked up the letter. She gave him a look for permission and he told her to go ahead.  
“Dear Mister Malfoy” the letter read “we are pleased to inform you that, due to the events that prevented the completion of your NEWTS, you have been invited back to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The year will not be mandatory but necessary if you are to finish your education.  
Please ensure to send your decision back by owl in no longer than a month time. Upon affirmative response you will be provided with a list of books and materials. Best regards, Minerva McGonagall”.  
Draco, who had been listening incredulously, put down the piece of toast he had been holding in the air for far too long. “As if that would be wise”, he commented, still dazed. It was not a possibility he had considered.  
“Draco” his mother admonished, “I think it’s a good idea. A new beginning”.  
“Mother. . . Mum, I really can’t see the benefits of going back. I did terrible things, at Hogwarts”.  
His mother sighed “You were just a boy, and under lots of pressure. If anyone, it’s my and your father’s fault”.  
“Mother, I wasn’t a child” he rebounded bitterly.  
“Not a child, no. But you were young. . . You still are. See it as a second chance, for your education but also to be around people of your age. Free, for once. You lived your best years with a terrible future looming upon your shoulders. Now you can be a schoolboy and nothing else, for a little while longer”  
“A terrible future that I embraced like an Idiot. I was NOT. A. Good. Person” he dared his mother to say otherwise “And we can’t just be young, anyway. None of us. Not after that”.  
“People change, Draco, especially at your age. And people heal. But you need to live and take risks to show that you are different and move forward”. She took his hand and fixed his eyes with her blue ones. “What do you think is going to happen, if you bury yourself in the Manor? In this house, that still stinks of horrible times? In your room, where all those memories will come back?”  
He didn’t have an answer, so he stood, emptying his half eaten plate in the bin and setting it by the sink.  
“I don’t know” he replied after a while, still facing the irregular stones on wall. He counted 43 on the second row from the ceiling.  
“Promise you’ll think about it” and her voice sounded so imploring that Draco nodded mechanically.  
“I will, but that won’t make it less of a bad idea”. I won’t be welcome, Mum, and I don’t think I can take it. I can take being alone another year, not with people around me. He made to leave but she stopped him “There is more”. She was still holding the letter, and started to read the few lines at the bottom “The postscript. It says that all students of age, or with permission from a guardian, who wish to aid in the creation of a Memorial Garden for the fallen, are welcome to anticipate their return by two weeks. You will join Neville Longbottom, with the supervision of Professors Sprout and Flitwick, in helping with the completion of the project. We required any interest to partecipate to be included in the reply to this letter”. And with that, she folded the paper back in two.  
“I will think about it” Draco repeated, before leaving. 

“I am going. And so is Blaise”, Theo said after popping a raspberry into his mouth. He had a nice mouth. He was lounging lazily against a rock by the pond, a hat full of fruits resting on his legs.  
His father had been sentenced to jail, and this time Draco had written that owl he should have sent when Stephen died. He had said he was sorry and many other things, and had told Theo he was welcome to stay at the Manor if he needed a place. Theo had gently declined. Blaise was staying with him for a while, before joining his mother in Italy, and he needed some time to sort things out at home and eventually sell the place. He came to visit though, quite often.  
Things between them were good. They were friends, and Draco realised he was happy that way.  
“Well, I don’t really get why Blaise would redo the year. He had top marks last year and could just take the exams privately. . . Anyway, it’s easier for you two, you did nothing of significance, no one would have problems with you coming back” he huffed.  
“Typical of you to twist your evil deeds around like if you did something remarkable. . . Nothing of significance . . .” Theo joked, but became suddenly serious “Like anyone would actually care about that, Draco”  
“Some will”  
“Some will, yeah. Some people always will” the other boy conceded “But most won’t. It’s a happier time, and lots of students would want to just enjoy their life now that they can without bigger worries. . . Plus the majority of them were there last year, with the Carrows. They know you weren’t really into it”.  
“There were other years before that. . . and I don’t know, Theo. Can we really just go back to normal after the war?” He sighed, feeling like he was making excuses.  
“We are still boys. And I, for once, want to live like one”  
“When were you any younger than 80 years old, anyway?” Draco said, tilting his head to observe the other boy with mock interest. Theo sneered, and maybe his lips were a bit too thin to be beautiful.  
“I’ll have you know that I could be lots of fun if I wanted” he replied, trowing a squashed raspberry at Draco’s head and missing by a foot.  
“I’ll have you know that my Great-aunt used to speak just like you”  
“Merlin, you are a dick” the other boy said, putting the now empty hat on top of his head and down over his eyes. He relaxed his head backwards on the rock, the juice from the fruits trailing red down his cheeks. Draco laughed.  
“Maybe you need to go back, if you can’t even transfigure a bowl”. And maybe being young wasn’t so bad, he thought, trowing some pebbles in the water.  
“I like the hat”, Theo’s voice trailed off sleepily after a while. “I wonder if there will be raspberries bushes in the Memorial Gardens”.  
That night, Draco thought about the letter, about the comfort he had found in his own gardens during dark times. About how lovely it would be to have his final rest surrounded by the beauty of life.  
“All the students who wish”. And Draco wished. 

That’s how, on the 16th of August, Draco had found himself apparating to Hogsmeade. It had been a lovely, warm Sunday and he had spent most of it nervously walking back and forth on the patio, backtracking on his decision. His mother had sat patiently on a wicker chair, letting him release his steam and occasionally reading a passage from her book aloud. It was a story about love, youth and second chances. When she read “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood”, he had rolled his eyes and replied “I had a happy childhood!”, but decided that was his clue to go.  
She had smiled brightly and waved her hand in goodbye “Splinter will arrange the delivery of your trunk. Don’t forget to write, dear”.  
His father had nodded from the door.  
By the time he had made it to the Castle’s gates and Professor Slughorn had accompanied him to his new dormitory in the Slytherin Dungeon it was well past dinner time. Despite being tired, it had taken him a long time before falling into an agitated sleep.  
When morning came he looked at the two empty beds next to his with narrowed eyes. Theo had reached Blaise a week before and they wouldn’t be back until the Saturday. Draco felt slightly betrayed. In their letter the Italian had declared he would have been invited if they hadn’t know about “his need to reevaluate his life and wallow in self pity”. He considered skipping breakfast.  
He met Daphne, her sister and two Seventh year Slytherins on their way to the Great Hall. They greeted each others and made small talks.  
When they reached their destination Daphne let out a surprised “Ohhh. . .”  
The Great Hall was empty but for a rather large round table, at the centre of the room. The Professors were occupying their normals seats. Only a few of them were already back, chatting amiably and seemingly ignoring the little group of students. About half of the table was filled and he spotted a few familiar faces. Most of them were seventh years or returning students. They were all sitting on the left side of the table, discussing together while helping themselves to the food. Thomas and a boy he didn’t recognise, but that was wearing an Hufflepuff tie, seemed to occupy the central seats and were surrounded by quills and parchments, and what looked like a sketch pad. He awkwardly took the seat next to Longbottom, Daphne going for the one after. The other students looked at them and, for a moment that in Draco’s nervous mind stretched way too long, there was silence.  
Than Macmillan said “Well, I think you were the last” and they resumed their discussion, giving a brief explanation of what they went into so far.  
Draco was distracted, though. He was looking at the faces around the table. What looked like two Hufflepuff boys and two girls in his year were back, and so were three Rawenclaws wizards and a witch. Her sister was the only female Gryffindor, while Thomas, Finnegan and Longbottom were all there. The Trio was noticeably missing.  
He couldn’t help but wonder where Potter was. He wasn’t sure why he expected the other boy to be there, he didn’t have any reason after all. No one would ask for the Saviour of the Wizarding World’s qualifications when looking for employment. Probably he didn’t even need to work. Not like it was Draco’s business, anyway. His mind didn’t seem to agree and, before he could stop himself, he was asking Longbottom “Where is Potter?”  
The Gryffindor looked uncomfortable, like if unsure he should answer, but Luna piped in “He is in Australia”  
“Luna, we are not supposed to —“  
“They are scheduled back early tomorrow, Neville!” She interrupted “Hermione had some. . . Business she needed to take care of, and Ron’s brother, George needed him. It’s quite a delicate moment for their family and they spent some time in Romania. . . So, Harry just went instead”  
“Oh. . .” Said Draco. So he was coming back.  
“Yeah, they are stopping at the Burrow tomorrow to get Ron and Ginny and they should be here by Wednesday. . . It’s all very exciting”  
“Yeah. . . It’s going to be good” said Longbottom, with a big smile.  
“Great! I think Lisa and Sue will make it too, at some point during the week. . . And we are expecting a sixth year. I. . . I am happy Harry is coming back”. It was the same Ravenclaw that had spoken about the Trio’s adventure in the bank and Draco still thought he sounded very enthusiastic.  
“Yeah, as Terry said. I think we Hufflepuff are all here but I heard Nott and Zabini are arriving on the weekend”.  
“Tracey too. . .” Said Daphne, quietly.  
“Err. . . Yeah, I think we should start, they can add ideas as they come. Uhm, any suggestion?” Longbottom sounded unsure but all the heads turned to him in rapt attention. “Professor Sprout will help us procuring the plants we need, and Flitwick has some great charms to make them bloom all year around he can teach us.” He continued with more confidence “I think we should collect ideas on what species we would like to see in the Gardens first, then we can work around design and placement”  
And because today his voice seemed to have a mind of its own Draco said “Raspberries”.  
He could feel them looking and he thought bad idea. All of this. Bad idea.  
Then someone repeated “Raspberries?”  
“No. . . Yes, I mean. . . I think the Gardens are not only a place for the fallen but also for the ones that wish to remember them. I guess I just thought. . .”  
He paused, feeling immensely stupid. He wasn’t used to have to explain himself, but they were all waiting “I envision it as a place where people would want to sit around and talk and spend time. Something to nibble on would —“ He tried.  
Finally, Luna said “I think that’s a lovely idea, don’t you?”  
Quite a few people agreed and from then the discussion became more animated. They were just a bunch of kids but they had grown a lot during the last year. Draco felt like the first step had been taken. Maybe he could do this.

As predicted, Potter and his gang arrived on Wednesday. They were already outside, in the piece of land that stretched beyond Dumbledore’s grave, between the greenhouses and the lake. It was a peaceful place, quiet and big enough for their project. Draco was observing from the side the debate on the benefits of fountains becoming more incensed.  
“I have six!” Macmillan was blabbing “I am telling you, do you have a Garden? A proper Garden always has fountains”  
“We are not in Versailles” Thomas argued, earning a few confused stares.  
“I agree with Dean” an amused voice said from behind and Granger came into view, followed by Potter and the two Weasleys. “Honestly, you guys, this is what’s wrong with the Wizarding World”.  
They weren’t particularly tanned but they had a healthy glow to their cheeks. Draco wondered if Potter’s freckles were more noticeable. He was too far away to see. They looked healthier in general, if only a bit tired.  
“Hermione. Harry!” Boot yelled, and suddenly they were all over the newcomers.  
Draco saw a group of the younger students lingering around Potter wearing admiring expressions, but the boy regarded them with an half embarrassed smile and raised his hands. “Hey, I know I am Harry Potter and all that stuff. But this year is my chance at normality and I want to spend it in the most inconspicuous way. . . Plus, I had a prophecy thrown at me without my consent. . . Those, those are the true heroes” he said, looking fondly from Granger to Weasley to Longbottom and his other friends. “They only had their own free choice to befriend me despite the not so appealing package and all the complications. . . I am just a boy”  
Everybody laughed, but Draco only stared. He had just strangely noticed how full Potter’s lips looked, even when he smiled.


	11. A boy at the round table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title doesn’t have much to do with the chapter’s content as with the sense of belonging, to be part of something (like the round table in king Arthur).  
> Anyway, it’s a long chapter, some parts are descriptive so hopefully not boring.  
> I will put some notes at the end to explain a few things

By the weekend they had agreed on a layout and the fact that there was indeed no need for a fountain. Macmillan had tried to argue his case, but Luna had spoken quietly, in her dreamy voice “I don’t know. . . I guess I’ve always envisioned a small, tranquil pond, with fish. And wildlife will surely claim it as their home. . . Dad always says they attract Freshwater Plimpies, and that would be tremendously wonderful, you know. . .”  
Some of the other students had looked at her with skepticism, but most of them were used to her odd declarations. And it made sense, a place buzzing with life to celebrate the ones that no longer could enjoy theirs.  
Macmillan had sulked for a bit until Thomas, who had been quietly drawing at the side, had ripped a page from his pad and charm it to fly his way. It was a sketch of pompous looking fountain with tiers and topped by a statue of the Hufflepuff pouring water from a fish’s mouth, and Macmillan had stared at it with an expression quite resembling the animal’s. Thomas had innocently suggested that they could have six, that he knew a great spell for carving stone. After an intense glare the other boy had agreed the pond was a good idea, as soon as he was promised there wouldn’t be anymore drawings depicting him half naked. The tension in the air had dropped and even Draco had silently admired the Gryffindor’s artistic skills.  
The pond was going to be the central piece of the Gardens, around which the flower beds would develop following a circular pattern.  
They decided to surround the body of water with a ring of white pebbles, followed by a bigger ring, that was to be divided in four sections, leaving a cross of gravelled path to reach the pond. The outer parts of the sections would host a circle of Red Daisy chrysanthemums.  
Potter had flushed when Granger had asked the others for permission, to which she had laughed and told them about sending him into a flower shop during their trip “I really needed to get something for. . . A person. Anyway, I was so nervous and I asked Harry to go instead. He spent the best of an hour discussing with a Muggle about the meaning of flowers. . . It was really sweet”. She had added, smiling softly at her friend.  
“Er. . . Yeah, well chrysanthemums in Australia represent mothers. They are often just called Mums. . . And we wouldn’t have won this war without mothers”. He had lifted his gaze and looked directly at Draco. They held each other eyes for a moment, before the Gryffindor broke contact “The red ones signify love and devotion”. The faint colour on his cheeks had lingered for a while.  
The inner part, enclosed in the symbolic embrace of mothers’ Love, would remain bare until the garden were finished. Weasley had said that the relatives of the victims needed a way to be involved as well, receiving a look from Granger similar to the one she gave him outside the Room of Hidden Things and bringing Draco to believe they were going to make out.  
They had considered Weasley’s words and came up with a project that had left the group the most excited.  
The circle would be contained inside a rectangular frame made of berries bushes.  
When it came to what to do with the space in the four corners, they had stalled. After hours spent without reaching any conclusion someone proposed that, once the last of the students had arrived, they could split into 4 groups and each would be in charge of one.  
Draco, that so far had spent most time quietly observing from the side, looked nervously at Daphne, who had moved closer. He searched for the other Slytherins but found the two Seventh years sitting with the artistic Hufflepuff boy he had discovered was called Tam, going trough his sketchbook.  
Astoria gave her sister an apologetical shrug before resuming her conversation with a group of Ravenclaws girls in her year.  
“I guess it’s just us, that are unable to get over ourselves” Daphne murmured. “It was her idea, Tori’s, to come back. She said she didn’t believe in blood purity anyway, and that this was our opportunity to show we are more than just Slytherins. . . What was it for you? Why did you come back, Draco?”  
Draco thought about it. After a while he replied “Being a Slytherin didn’t help me during the war. It didn’t matter, I was expandable. . . And then those people that I always considered below me and treated likewise, gave me a chance. I guess I just want to see where that chance takes me. Maybe I want to be more than just a Slytherin, too”.  
He wasn’t even sure Daphne was still listening but, when he glanced at her, her eyes were shimmering.  
“I am not sure I know how” she said, voice broken.  
Neither do I. . .Neither do I. But he took her elbow and guided her gently towards Luna anyway. 

Theo and Blaise were the last to arrive and joined the group on the evening of Saturday. Blaise regarded the other pupils with his usual aloofness, receiving a few huffs and eye rolls. He had never cared much about making a good impression, even when with other Slytherins. Theo, on the other hand, was really jittery.  
“Calm down, will you” Blaise said kicking him under the table. They had squeezed themselves between Draco and Tracy, but Theo was looking at the other side of the table, where the students were mixed up in disregard of their House. Except for a few, most of the seats were now taken. Astoria sat on Daphne’s right, next to a Ravenclaw, and the other two younger Slytherins were talking to some of the Hufflepuffs, but it was clear that their House was still divided from the others.  
“Hey. . . Hello, everybody” Longbottom cleared his voice “Well, now that we are all here, we could decide the groups. We will take a break tomorrow but it would be nice to have them set up already for Monday”  
“Shall we choose four group leaders to pick the others?” An Hufflepuff girl suggested.  
“Or we can just divide the table into four sections and go with that. . . It’s faster” Draco was sure the Gryffindor side of the Patil twins was looking directly at the Slytherins.  
He felt Theo tense next to him, before exclaiming “That’s rubbish”.  
All the eyes at the table darted towards the boy. Draco grabbed his knee and tried to squeeze it in warning, but Theo batted him away.  
“Excuse me?”  
“It’s rubbish. From what I gathered we would need to separate anyway to work with Professor Sprout, Flitwick and Slughorn on the different aspect of magic we need. It would make more sense to have groups based on skills, rather than on seats placement. Which, as you can clearly see, leaves us Slytherin left out”  
“Well, you do tend to stick together” observed Finch-Fletchley. Most of the table was glaring at Theo by now.  
“So you assumed we want to create our little corner with green roses and snakes?”  
“No one was saying —“ tried the Gryffindor girl, looking scandalised, but Theo was on a mission.  
For Salazar’s sake! Draco searched for something to stuff in his friend’s mouth. The apples looked appealing.  
“I didn’t chose to be a Slytherin, it’s just who I am. Which says nothing, because I am not at all like Blaise —“  
“Theo. . .” Draco started, gritting his teeth. He was going to kill him.  
But then another familiar voice rang in the chaos that was about to happen. “I am pants at potions”.  
Everybody shushed, and Draco’s head snapped towards the origin of the sound.  
Potter was sitting next to a beaming Luna, and wore the strangest expression between determination and discomfort.  
Theo was staring at the Gryffindor with wide eyes, just a hint of a victorious smile.  
“I, however, am not”. Blaise sounded indifferent but Draco knew that, to speak now, he must have been impressed.  
Then someone agreed, saying it would make things easier, and more and more voices gave their consent, drifting the conversation into other directions. Soon the table was buzzing again with chatter and laughter.  
“What’s gotten into you?” He hissed in Theo’s ear.  
“Nothing is going to change if we don’t make ourselves noticed”  
“And you think that aggressive attitude is the best way?” Draco asked in disbelief.  
“It worked” Theo was watching Potter and, when he met the other boy’s eyes, gave him a little smile, to which the Gryffindor replied with an uncertain one of his own.  
And Draco once again reflected on the power of actions, and how a simple phrase of acceptance had change the course of everything. Blaise wasn’t the only one to be impressed.

Thursday morning Draco found himself distractedly pecking food while double checking his notes on the new type of fertiliser they were experimenting on. Working in a group made of some of the top Potions students in the school had revealed to be a very engaging experience. Draco was used to be the best in the class, and while knowing that he was naturally gifted in the subject he couldn’t deny Snape had favourited him over the others. So much so that his attention had diminished and by fifth year he found the class rather easy and boring. Now, where he had to confront his knowledge and ideas with people on his same skills level, his interest had sparked again. He found some of the other students theories rather brilliant and their common ground had allowed them to share them maturely. He was with equals and he was truly appreciating the challenge of keeping up with minds that were alike and yet different.  
After 4 days he was totally engrossed in the project.  
“You should add half a measure of dragonfly thoraxes” Theo’s said, peeking at the parchment from behind Draco’s shoulder. “And the flying seahorses might counteract the effect of the adder’s fork in the everlasting elixir you are trying to combine”. Despite being equally if not more talented than Draco, Theo had decided not to join his two friends in the dungeons, opting to help with what he had labelled “the Manual Labour group” instead. He had justified it saying that, after years under the lake, he needed to be in the open. Draco knew that, in truth, he was trying to find himself outside that circle of friends he could count on.  
“Yes, Theodore, very helpful. But the seahorses are a fundamental ingredient for the endurance effect of a girding potion”, he scoffed, annoyed. He had been mashing his brain on the topic for hours, and it was only mid morning.  
“Then maybe you should look into a substitute for the adder”  
“Mhm. . . Granger had said so” he replied, scratching his chin.  
“Ah, Granger is very smart. Anyway, I heard Professor Flitwick’s group has come up with some wicked charms”  
“Have you been spying on Potter again?” Theo had been drawn to the Gryffindor since the other boy had saved his big mouth from being hexed into perpetual silence.  
His friend rolled his eyes “No, you moron. Dean and Weasley were talking about it. . . And I think what Potter. . . Harry did the other day was very mature”.  
“So you want to befriend the Saviour?” He teased.  
“You know what, you can fuck off”, Theo suddenly lashed, leaving Draco to watch the other boy’s retreating form in bewilderment. There was something wrong with him, and Draco was beginning to worry.

On Sunday Draco woke at the sound of Theo pacing the room.  
He sat up in bed and locked eyes with Blaise. Even in the distance he could see that the other wizard’s dark orbs looked murderous. He casted a quick Tempus.  
“Theo, what the fuck, it’s 4:30 in the morning”  
The boy startled “Oh, you are awake”  
“I find it rather impossible to sleep with a effing hippogryph wreaking my room!” Blaise yelled.  
“No, but really, Theo, what is going on with you recently?” Draco asked before his friend could kill the other.  
Theo looked between the two of them before deflating. He leaned on the wall, knocking his head backwards rather hard, and closed his eyes.  
“I want to plant some seeds in the memorial plot”  
It took a moment for Draco to understand what the other boy meant. Today the families of the victims were invited to the opening of the Gardens. It would be a private little affair, out of respect. The Gardens would be available to the public in the summer, once the students had returned at home, for a open donation to a fund that would take care of the costs of repairs and support for the one affected by the war. During the ceremony the relatives, and friends that wanted to, would be given some seed to plant in the four empty lots around the pond, in the name of the people they wanted to remember. The students had chosen an array of wildflowers, to give a natural and unconfined feeling to the place. The fertiliser, a combination of ageing and strengthening potions with an everlasting elixir, would assure the immediate blooming of the seeds and the lasting of the flowers so that the Gardens would always appear in season.  
Theo wanted to plant some seeds in memory of Stephen.  
Blaise expression softened and he stood, taking Theo gently by his hand and guiding him back to the bed. The boy flopped into the mattress and curled up on his side, looking at Draco but past him. Blaise climbed on after him and sat on the pillow, from where he started to slowly stroke the other wizard’s hair.  
Draco wanted to reach out, to touch Theo too. But physical contact between the two of them had only ever been adolescent fumbling in dark corners, while Draco had set rules and kept his mind half alert, afraid to be caught. And while Blaise stroke his hair naturally, as a friend comforting another, Draco didn’t know where his boundaries with Theo laid. Where a touch would be uncomfortable rather than soothing. So he just talked instead.  
“Theo, listen to me, he was your brother. It’s ok that you want to remember him”.  
“You know, I keep thinking am I allowed? That I will go there. . . and people will think who could he have lost? All I could hear the other day was I don’t want to be with the Slytherins. . . That we are never going to be more than what someone from our House has defined us to be. Someone like my brother. And still, I miss him, and wasn’t he a victim of the war, in same way? The Patils lost their best friend because of someone like Stephen, but he was my brother and I don’t know if I have the rights to remember him. . . If my reasons for grieving are as valid as theirs. As the ones of people like Potter that lost so much. . . After all, Stephen brought this upon himself. . . But I know my pain is. . . And I’m not sure, I guess I’m just trying to fit in and make them see that I am like them. . .that I never wanted this. And that maybe I can be suffering too?” Theo paused, to blow his nose. His face was all blotchy and he looked like a lost child. “Is it stupid, that I want to do that? That I still love my brother and want to commemorate him in the same way of the ones killed by people like him?. . . Maybe it’s just stupid that I still love him, because he was like them.” Like me, Draco thought. “I was angry with him. . . Blaise knows, all I could talk about was how angry I was. But now I am just sad, and my family is gone too”.  
He turned over, burying his face in the pillow, but Draco kneeled in front of the bed and forced the other boy to face him.  
“Look at me, Theo. All I could think about, during sixth year, when my life was fucked up, was my parents. I was in that situation because of them, and because I was an idiot. . . But mostly because of them. And even then, my mind was focused on doing whatever I could to keep them alive. I was scared. . . Shit, Theo, I was terrified. More than once I thought we were all going to die. I was losing my mind, and then someone told me something really simple, but that validated my emotions. He told me that it was ok to be scared, because that shit was real. . . Theo, it’s okay for you to be sad. It’s ok for you to want to remember your brother. It’s ok for you to love someone despite their flaws. And Stephen never killed anyone. I know it’s beside the point, but he wanted to be like your father, he wanted to make him proud. . . I know the feeling, it’s hard to do what you have done and be different. But that doesn’t cancel the relationship between you two”. I was Stephen, too.  
“Let’s do it together. Not all your family is gone, Theo”. Blaise’s voice sounded strong, and Theo wiped his tears.  
“Okay” he nodded. They talked until the sun was up.

Around 11 a small crowd had gathered at the entrance to the Gardens, marked by a delicate arch of jasmine. The gentle scent of the flowers danced in the air. People were wearing bright colours, because as McGonagall had said it wasn’t a funeral. As they passed the archway a multitude of enchanted tiny globes started to float around them, glittering gold and silver in the sunlight. They moved with the rhythm of nature, giving the Gardens a peaceful feeling. In the four corners, short, flat rocks, were positioned between random arrays of plants and flowers, to create bucolic seats for the visitors. The red chrysanthemum at the heart of the site moved gently in the breeze. One by one the families and friends of the fallen dipped their hands in the pots and threw their seeds in the air. The dark soil was soon filled with forget-me-not, and amaranth, and buttercups, primroses, saxifrages and so on. As each one of them approached, the earth under the gravel glowed different colours.  
“It’s a tricky enchantment” Professor Flitwick explained, proud. “It’s tuned with emotions and will respond with the colour you need the most in the moment you step on it.”  
Theo walked on a white path, looking up all the way, not in challenge but not hiding either.  
Draco thought of Professor Snape.  
At the end, some people stayed behind. Draco, who had been talking to Daphne and Luna, found himself tuning out when the Ravenclaw had breached the subject of Freshwater Plimpies.  
He heard a few snippets of conversation from a group of mostly Weasleys nearby.  
The remaining twin had visited Hogwarts during the week and spent some time with Professor Flitwick and his group.  
“We developed a little charm for the seeds. Every time someone nearby says a joke or voices a happy thought, the buttercups will turn purple for an hour” He was saying, scratching his neck sheepishly.  
“Wow, that’s an impressive bit of magic” Granger commented admiringly.  
“Yeah. . . Mum said so too”  
Draco felt like he was intruding, so he made to leave. He wanted to check on Theo anyway. He managed only a few metres when he was stopped by a couple, followed by a shy looking boy.  
The woman was short, with mousy brown hair, and held onto her husband for support. When she addressed Draco, although her voice was wavering, she looked determined  
“We are Colin’s parents, Colin Creevey. And this is Dennis, our son, he comes to Hogwarts too. . . They told us you found him, that you took care of him. Thank you. He went, in the middle of the night, he was gone. But he was proud of who he was, happy” she paused. Sobbed. “So we never truly lost him, because he was were he belonged. . . Thank you for making sure he returned to us. . .” She sobbed again, unable to continue.  
Draco was shocked “I. . . I didn’t do anything”  
Colin’s father shook his head and said “It was enough”.  
After they left Draco searched for Luna, but she was staring at Macmillan. The Hufflepuff shrugged “It was the truth”.  
Draco felt a wave of contrasting emotions and his feet taking him to Professor Snape’s grave. The tombs of the two former Headmasters stood one after the other, the only deceased to actually be buried on ground. Dumbledore, imposing and white, faced the calming waters of the lake. Snape’s, smaller and cut from a darker marble with black veins, faced the gardens.  
Surprisingly, when he arrived, Potter was there. Alone.  
“Malfoy. . . Hey” he said, awkwardly, once he noticed the intruder.  
When Draco didn’t respond her went on as if talking to himself “I guessed nobody was thinking of him. And I really don’t know how I feel, I mean he was a pretty horrible person to me my whole life. . . But he did a lot for me too. And he had to do it in secret, so that nobody actually knew who he really was. . . It must have been pretty lonely, so I wanted to remember him —“  
Draco, that was thinking of choices and what would have been if he had chosen differently, if he had been like Snape, interrupted the babbling.  
“I did”  
“Oh?”  
“Think of him. But listen, Potter, I want you to show me his memories. His pensieve memories”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the flowers meanings are  
> Forget me not: memories and hope  
> Amaranth: immortal love  
> Buttercups: childish memories (they are also yellow, so when George explains the charm we have yellow flowers meaning something light and free like childhood turning purple. Yellow and purple are the two colours of their shop. Ah, how my complicated mind works)  
> Primroses: I cant live without you  
> Saxifrages: affection
> 
> The path Theo walks on is white like hope. 
> 
> Finally in the next chapter we will have D and H in the same place alone. In Snape’s head, very romantic, i know
> 
> I am sure I wanted to add something so if you find something you want explained feel free to ask
> 
> Thanks for reading


	12. A very incompetent me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I tried to add an image but it didn’t work, so here is the link to DeviantArt
> 
> Also, I have a new tumblr blog called inconsequentialmania in which I am posting all my hogwarts related art, so if you want to check it out ✌🏼

I was tired of writing so i did a little doodle of Harry!  
This is a link as I can’t upload it

http://fav.me/ddelwl8


	13. A man’s memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I am having a writer block so I hope this doesn’t suck as much as I fear it does. I think the problem is the huge quantity of dialogue and trying to make it run smoothly. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and if it’s gibberish (my favourite english word) let me know.

Potter blinked. Once. Twice. Then looked away. He started running his left hand on the smooth surface of Professor Snape’s grave, eyes following as his index traced the darker lines of the marble. He had thin, delicate fingers, not very long. Almost small hands for a boy of average height. His wrist poked out from the hem of his sleeve, veins protruding over the bone. Draco watched transfixed the rippled movements happening under the skin with each rotation of the joint. For an insane moment he imagined his own, long fingers encircling that wrist, feeling the flowing of blood in rhythm with the other’s boy heartbeat.  
“Okay” the question, finally, came. Except it wasn’t a question at all.  
Draco darted his gaze from Potter’s hand to his face, confused. He had expected the other wizard to ask him why, to be inquisitive. Even suspicious.  
“What?” He blurted.  
“I said okay. They are not my memories to keep. . . And I guess they do in some way concern you, as well. It’s just that nobody has asked me that before. You took me by surprise.”  
The Gryffindor seemed slightly intrigued, but Draco thought he could see a small amount of uncertainty.  
“I would get it if you rather not. But I’d like to see. . . To understand. . . “ It was hard to explain what he was trying to achieve, as he was unsure of it himself “At my trials, if we want to call them so, they said it was Dumbledore’s wish to protect my soul. Snape had tried to help me, all along, but I was too arrogant. . .Sure that all he wanted was to steal my glory” He swallowed “I wanted revenge. . . On you, Potter. For something that wasn’t even your fault. Then I suppose I was just too desperate to see reason. . . I was the one that had to do it, I couldn’t take the risk. . . When the time came, and he did it instead, I was relieved”. Draco felt suddenly tired. Old.  
“Dumbledore offered you an escape” The other boy said, looking directly at him. “I was there. You were going to take it”. It didn’t sound like a question.  
“Maybe” Draco admitted. If there had been more time. “When I finally accepted that I couldn’t do it, I wondered how Snape could. Kill, without a flinch. I didn’t understand. . .”  
The other boy remained silent, listening. Draco continued “He was the only Professor I admired. Probably the only adult, beside my parents. It didn’t fit his character. . . Don’t get me wrong, he was a bastard. But I’ve always wondered. . . Last year, with the Carrows, I think sometimes I’ve even doubted . . . But I was never sure.”  
“He played it well. . . He was able to fool Voldermort, don’t beat yourself up too hard”. Potter tone was almost sad.  
“Anyway, as I said, I’ve always liked him, but I’ve realised I didn’t really know him all that much. He was only a Professor, despite his connections to my family. . . I suppose I just want to see what could’ve been if I had decided to follow a different path. .” If I had taken his help. If I had voiced my doubts. If I had been brave.  
“Yeah. . . Okay.” Potter agreed again “The memories were given to the Wizengamot as evidence, but I think they have been returned. Let me talk to McGonagall and see if we can arrange a time for you to use the pensieve in her office. Tomorrow would probably be best, before all the students are back from the holidays on Tuesday” he closed the hand that was still caressing the cold stone into a fist, but left it lingering a bit longer before turning to leave.  
“Thanks, Potter” Draco said. The Gryffindor nodded without looking back, then walked away.  
Where he had stood, Draco noticed a lone white Lily, swaying in the breeze.

The message had come at dinner. After the ceremony the trio had left to Hogsmeade with the rest of the Weasleys, but Draco had found a note tucked under his glass, likely given to one of the House Elves. It had been really brief, just a line in a messy scribble “All sorted. 11 am, outside the gargoyle. H.”.  
He was early, so he nearly collided with the Headmistress, who was leaving her office.  
“Oh, Mister Malfoy. You are early. I’ve talked to Harry. . . Mister Potter, already, but the password is Russian Blue. Have a good day” she gave him a curt nod and hurried away. Draco hadn’t expected her to be present, but the sudden realisation that he was going to be alone with Potter made him feel strange. They had rarely been on their own and most of their confrontations had been tense at best.  
He was still feeling nervous when the other boy joined him.  
Potter looked flushed, like if he had been running, and his voice came out breathless “Uhm, sorry, we had a late night. . . Ron’s brother. . . Anyway, password is Russian Blue” Then he faced the gargoyle and repeated “Russian Blue”.  
They climbed the staircase in silence. The room was quite large, insufficiently lit by a small window on the side opposite the door. Although aided by floating candles, most of the illumination came directly from the roof, where small semicircular glasses, positioned randomly across the tiles, filtered the light into long beams. The dust particles in the air glistened gold, giving the place a mystical feel. Hogwarts was beautiful, but there was something special about the Headmistress’s office.  
The portraits turned their head in sync to look at the newcomers. Draco noticed that the two belonging to the most recent Headmasters were hung directly behind McGonagall’s chair, Snape’s on the left. His frame was slightly smaller and less adorned, but the resemblance and accuracy of details of the picture were astounding. Dumbledore greeted them with a small smile, but the Potion Master ignored Potter in favour of giving Draco a scrutinising stare.  
The Gryffindor was already searching trough a glass doors cabinet full of vials, muttering under his breath. Draco moved his gaze away and back to his former Professor. He addressed him tentatively “I was hoping to view the memories. . . Sir”  
Snape raised one eyebrow “Well, I am hardly in any faculty to stop you”.  
It was a fact, but Draco thought about his aunt meddling inside his head during their Occlumency sessions, the feeling of impotence in front of someone unraveling his mind without his consent “True. But I am asking for your permission”.  
“You have changed, Draco. Very well, you might proceed” he sighed in the direction of the Gryffindor, like if he wanted to say more, but only resolved by looking torn and a bit regretful. It was a look that Draco had never seen on the Professor’s face and he pondered about how much of Snape he had actually gotten to know when he was alive.  
“Have you ever used a pensieve?” The other boy asked, clutching a small bottle filled with a silvery substance in between liquid and gas.  
Draco turned “We have one. But no, I’ve never used it”. I never had memories I wanted to relive.  
Potter gestured for him to come closer to a richly carved basin sitting inside the cabinet next to the vials one.  
“Err. . . You need to pour the content of this bottle into the surface and then touch it. . . Ehm, I guess a finger should do”. They stood awkwardly next to each other until the other boy said “Well, if you are set. . . I —“  
Stay, Draco’s mind thought. It was an opportunity, he wasn’t sure for what but he felt like the moment was somewhat important. So he interrupted “I’d like you to stay, if you don’t mind”.  
Potter appeared a bit surprised by the request, yet he uncorked the vial and poured the content into the bowl.  
“Ready?” He asked.  
“Ready” Draco nodded.

The surface felt cold around his finger, but Draco had only a moment to register the sensation before he was hauled into a different scenery. The pull, unlike a portkey one, wasn’t uncomfortable and lasted merely a blink. He was amazed at how real it seemed. He could perceive the warmness of the ground, the heaviness of the summer air. The only indication that he was an intruder was the feeling of a light, smooth film on his skin, like a barrier between his body and the reality around him. It kept him aware he didn’t belong in there, that he couldn’t interact, couldn’t interfere. He looked at what seemed to be an old playground and notice that the other boy was staring intently at a little girl who was pushing herself on one of the swings, dark red hair floating around her face. Draco considered the cruel irony of having the only glimpses of your own mother from someone else’s memories. Lily Potter, as it turned out, would never be able to push her own son on a swing. But this Lily, this child in Snape’s mind, didn’t know that, so she swayed in the air, happy and carefree. And her son looked at her, drinking in all her smiles.  
It felt intimate, so Draco’s attention snapped back in search of Snape.  
He found the boy lurking in the bushes nearby. The younger version of their former Professor was looking at the girl as well, but with another kind of longing. Draco recognised the childish interest he too had sometimes looked at Theo with, when they played as children . Not yet sexual but different from the way he did at his other friends.  
The contrast between Snape, who was dressed in unfitting and dirty clothes, and the pristine girls he was spying on was great but, despite his state, he was bold when he addressed the youngest of the two.  
Draco thought of his own childhood, always pampered and spoilt. It was clear than Snape did not receive such attentions, as the child looked neglected and ignored, but when he spoke of the Wizarding World he had the same confidence of Draco. He was obviously proud of being a wizard. The fact that he only had eyes for Lily while the other girl, who appeared quite ordinary, was ignored was a further statement of his preferences. Draco had found out that both Snape and Voldemort had Muggle fathers and both had been resolved to distance themselves from that world.  
But in Snape’s young mind Lily was different. It was convenient and, in the hypocritical way children do when they want something, it was easy to manipulate his own beliefs to accomodate his interest for the girl.  
At the same time Draco though that Lily was changing Snape’s mindset. He saw the boy growing conflicted, while his feeling for his friend grew stronger. He saw them being sorted into different houses, their path separated by more than two tables. He saw his own father sitting beside Snape, proud of his colours, welcoming the new member. Despite being were he had hoped to be, the little boy’s eyes were sad. He though again about how the sorting was a way to unite but at the same time to divide. Then, he remembered Macmillan, telling Creevey’s parents about him. Luna, feeding Thestrals in the forest while talking to him like a friend. Potter, accepting his request without second thoughts. And maybe the separation was only in people’s mind, and the war did change some things for the better.  
But while Lily Evans already seemed to know that the sorting could not taint their relationship, Snape struggled to separate his friendship and the influence of some of his house members. So Draco watched as the boy’s pull towards the Dark Arts eventually set them apart. There was something, in Lily’s strong, unwavering sense of what was right. She cared about him, but she would not excuse him for his actions, for the way he treated others. And when he chose not to see outside of the limiting four walls he had built in his mind, when he decided to follow those people that raised themselves above others, above people like her, he lost her. And then he realised, too late, he had made the biggest mistake of his life.  
Potter. Harry. Who until now had kept his eyes trained on his mother, diverted his gaze. Draco, that had found himself often more interested in watching the other boy than the memories, looked again at the way Snape’s regret had changed him and, consequently, the fate of the war. A man, fighting constantly with his own childhood beliefs and experiences, that told him to hate James Potter’s son while the boy looked at him with Lily’s eyes. As Dumbledore accused him to only see what he expected to see, Draco knew he too had been guilty of making the same mistake. He listened while the two wizards discussed the punishment Lord Voldemort had set upon his family and how the man he had been supposed to kill had ultimately saved his life. And then he watched, horrified, as the same man confessed Harry Potter had to die.  
His mother had talked about the events in the forest, briefly, like if it was something someone else had told her. Like if she was unsure of what had really happened, her mind too occupied on worrying about him. She had said Potter told her her son was alive, and she had believed him.  
Maybe because, out of all the people that had accused the Gryffindor of being mad and a liar, the Malfoys had always known he spoke the truth. It was so Harry Potter, honesty no matter what. And maybe because, when you are desperate enough, you will believe anything you want to hear.  
But he imagined the other boy, alone while the battle raged around him, hearing his death sentence from the mouth of a man he had always trusted. Barely more than a child, and yet he still walked into the forest in order to die and give the others a chance. 

Draco was shocked and felt the pull back into his own body, where he found himself staring into the blank face of the Gryffindor. After a short time Potter regained consciousness and for a while they just stood there looking at their feet and anything but each other.  
Then the other boy broke the silence “The first time I heard my mother’s voice, aside for in my dreams, was in Snape’s memories”, he said, still very interested in the floor.  
An image of Lily arguing with Snape flashed in front of Draco’s eyes. The sun rays danced gold on Potter’s face, giving his dark hair auburn reflections “You look a lot like —“  
“My father, I know.” The other boy shrugged.  
But that wasn’t what Draco was thinking, so he said it without realising how weird it sounded “Your mother”.  
Potter head snapped up so quickly Draco was surprise it was still successfully attached to his neck.  
The way you stand up for what you think is right. How your eyebrows draw near in a likely manner when you are incensed, your eyes narrow and your voice assumes a sarcastic undertone. Your mouth curves softly just like hers, and your nose is smaller than your father’s. In the same way Draco’s was undoubtedly Lucius’s son, but to a trained eye it was clear how much of Narcissa was actually embedded in his features, he could see all the small details of Lily in the boy in front of him.  
The boy that looked stunned “What?”.  
And since the voice in Draco’s mind was screaming that talking about Potter’s mouth wasn’t maybe the smartest ideas he had ever had, he ended up blurting “You have freckles”, before thinking there was something profoundly wrong with himself.  
The other boy gave him a calculating gaze “Yeah. . . If you connect them together they form the constellation of the Cancer. Trelawney said it’s a sign of bad omen”.  
“Uh. . . Wha — really?”  
“No! Seriously, Malfoy, what’s wrong with you?”  
Draco felt an unfamiliar heat on his cheeks and diverted the conversation “I guess I am just shocked. . . Do you really forgive him, after all that?. . .Forgive them?”. Snape was, albeit indirectly, the cause of the Potters’s death, and Dumbledore had kept horrible secrets from their son until the very end. Draco was amazed that the other wizard hadn’t killed the men himself. “I am not really sure what I was hoping to see, but that wasn’t courage, Potter”. You, going in the forest to die, that was courage. “That was remorse”.  
The other boy sighed “Snape, and even Dumbledore, had taught me the world is not black and white. There are different types of courage. He went against his beliefs, against a mindset he had build for himself out of abuse and neglect . . . He wanted to belong and because the Muggle world hadn’t been kind to him he sought it in the magical one, to an extreme. . . I’d disliked him, even hated him, but now I think I understand a bit. At the end, he sacrificed all his life out of what he felt for my mother, and regardless of the reason, what he did was fundamental for ending the war. As for me dying, with a piece of Voldemort’s soul in me that was the only way, just a fact. . . And I think Dumbledore knew me well. . . He was right, I didn’t want to die, but I wanted other people to live more. Neither him or Snape forgave themselves in life, so yeah, I think I do”.  
Draco involuntarily searched for the Professors, but all the portraits were now empty.  
He shook his head “At the end, Snape’s wasn’t some grand action out of a change of heart, because of truly believing he had been wrong. . . It was personal. Hadn’t your mother died he would have probably continued to serve his cause”  
The other wizard glanced at the empty frames “Maybe, but aren’t all the reasons we act for personal?”  
Yes, still some are better than others, Draco thought, smoothing down the fabric of his shirt “I think I was looking for a confirmation that people can change, that I can be more than the little, stupid Death Eater.” He closed his eyes, pretending to be alone. Imagining he was talking to himself, getting the heaviness off his chest one stone at a time.  
“You know, when you told me, a while ago, that it was ok to be afraid, it made me feel less alone. But that’s all I had. . . Fear. That was my reason. I was hoping to see in Snape’s memories that things could be different. That I could be more than the mark on my arm. But, if it wasn’t for your mother, he would have been just that”.  
Potter scratched his forehead absentmindedly “We all have marks that people define us by. Do you really want to do that to yourself, too? Live your life in regret, like them?”  
“Easy for you to say, you are the hero”.  
The other boy rolled his eyes  
“And you are the villain’s sidekick’s child. Hardly a title to lose your sleep upon”.  
They fell quiet again, each in their own mind, then the Gryffindor spoke  
“Listen, Malfoy, you came here looking for a reason to forgive yourself. Your family, I think that’s your reason. You chose each other, at the end. . . Your parents chose you, and you did most of what you have done for them. Dumbledore was adamant about the importance of Love. And that’s it. For Snape it was the love he felt for my mother, for Dumbledore the one for his sister. . . As soon as there is some sort of Love, there’s your opportunity for change. Voldemort never knew what it meant, and never sought it, so he was doomed. You grew up in a family were your parents loved you, and loved each other. You’ll be fine”.  
After another long pause, it was Draco that spoke first “You know, I was afraid of coming back. I expected people to hate me, but, excluding some looks, everybody seems incredibly okay with me being here”.  
That. The motive that brought him there, in the Headmistress’s office. Draco couldn’t understand why people were so civil with him when he had done nothing to deserve it.  
“Have you considered that maybe it’s because you are less of a prat? You’ve stopped provoking people, so most are happy just leaving you alone.” There was a little smile on Potter’s lips.  
Draco felt a surge of shame and wanted desperately to change the subject. “I didn’t picture you for a romantic, Potter. . . Love is the reason” he recited, with a grave voice “And do you think you have found a love like that? With Weasley?” As soon as he had said it he found he was oddly interested in the answer. He had seen the two of them joking with each other often during the two weeks in the castle.  
“Who, Ron? Nah, we are just really good friends”. For a moment, Draco blanched. The other boy looked a bit thoughtful, as if surprised of his own joke. And suddenly, the mood significantly lightened.  
“Has anyone ever told you you are an idiot, Potter?” He asked, with an incredulous chuckle.  
“Yeah, you. In not such kind words. . . Over and over. . . for about six years, give or take.” The other wizard replied with a smirk.  
“Five.” Draco felt the need to correct.  
“Err. . . Right”.  
The Gryffindor pushed his glasses up his nose and the conversation appeared to be stalling once more.  
“Do you think that we could start again? From the beginning, that first time we met?” Draco hurriedly added.  
The other boy considered the offer and then held his hand out.  
“Uh, yeah. Hi, I am Harry Potter”  
“I’m Draco. . .” Just Draco.  
“Okay”  
“Harry” Draco repeated.  
“It’s not that difficult. . . They are just names” the other boy looked amused.  
“True” Draco agreed.  
“Although mine is slightly less pretentious” his grin was getting bigger and Draco felt one of his own tugging at the corners of his lips.  
“I know I had reasons for not liking you” he drawled.  
“Well, at least those are good ones” and with the sound of Harry’s boyish laugh, Draco finally let himself smile.


	14. A girl attempting to post an image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second attempt to upload one of my doodles. I had this image of Harry wearing one of Hermione’s oversized knitted hats stuck in my head

Whatever.

This is the link to deviant art again. This really frustrates me to no end! 

http://fav.me/ddf115o


	15. A boy kissing boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm, what can I say. Enjoy it, and don’t have many expectations despite the title

“Blaiseee! Is being painfully slow part of your upbringing, or do you take pleasure in torturing me?” Theo whined, his fingers drumming impatiently on the table. Next to him, Blaise was cutting his omelette in pieces so small Draco suspected it was very likely the second option.  
In truth, he was as committed as Theo to get to their next class on time, so he aimed a quick vanishing charm at his friend’s breakfast. “For Merlin’s sake Blaise, cut the man a break”.  
The other boy gave him an uninterested sideway glance and proceeded to make a show of dabbing his mouth with a napkin, before raising from the bench with the dramatics of a king leaving his throne. Draco sighed.  
They caught up with Macmillan and a few other Hufflepuffs half way to the third floor. Theo had been impressed by Ernie’s inclination to recognise Draco’s merits regardless of his house. The Hufflepuff had said that being quick to judge, even people like Harry, in his youth made him learn to give others a chance. Coming from a traditional Pureblood family, even if one with different ideals from Theo’s, he had been interested in the other boy’s decision to sell his Manor, which was an important symbol for wizards and witches of their status. Theo had replied “What status?”, and that got them talking. So, three weeks into the school year, the two of them had struck some sort of friendship.  
In spite of what was expected, most of the Slytherin in Draco’s year had returned, making six of them when Pansy had joined the two girls and three boys already at the castle. Even with Pansy and Tracy not taking the NEWTS class for Defence, the boys and Daphne had been merged with the group of eight from the year below, making them in every way Seventh year students. Due to the increased number of pupils in the new combined system, the NEWTS periods, that normally included all four Houses, had been separated into two. That’s how the Slytherins came to share Defence Against the Darks Art with the Hufflepuffs.  
The class had been a surprise. McGonagall had decided that the once cursed subject needed a fresh approach, so she entrusted the position in the hands of two Professors. Iwan Rees was an ex Auror, whose years of experience in the field brought a more engaging twist to the class. On top of a similar attitude to Professor Lupin’s, which involved the students in practical confrontations with potential danger, Professor Rees would talk about the tricks he had learn during his career. Self defence became a matter of predicting the other’s moves and responding in the most effective way but with the least damage. You want to incapacitate but reduce the chances to hurt, because you don’t know your opponent’s story. And that’s where the other Professor, Nyah Achebe, fitted in the picture. A mind healer from St Mungo’s in her forties, Professor Achebe had worked for almost two decades in the Janus Thickey Ward department, attending to the victims of Curse Damage. She illustrated the ethical consequences of using potentially harmful spells against others, and the long term repercussions that said spells could cause. She talked to them about having to deal with the result of their actions and the importance of considering the life of the others on the same level as their own. Unless in mortal danger, when the need to react quickly overcame everything, it was fundamental that they had full control and understanding of the spells they were using. She was also there to offer support to the students who needed it, either because of the war or for other unrelated issues.  
She had just finished telling them how some of her patients that were left with permanent disabilities, had been found to be the victims of mind controlling spells, when a Slytherin girl said timidly “My mother, she worked for the Ministry. She was under the Imperius. . . No one noticed”.  
Someone from a few rows behind Draco scoffed “Yeah, overused excuse. . .”.  
Professor Achebe’s eyes darted to the student “Pardon me, Mister —“ she asked, with a stern tone.  
“Smith” the boy replied in a small voice.  
“Mister Smith. And you no doubt have some evidence to consolidate your assertion?”  
The Hufflepuff remained silent.  
“Very well” Professor Achebe said, turning her attention back to the class “I am actually glad for Mister Smith’s intervention, as it demonstrate how the rule of thinking before acting doesn’t apply only to physical attacks. You are at an age in which you should understand well that grouping people under categories based on a few examples is detrimental. No two snowflakes are alike, after all”.  
“My uncle, he was one of the Aurors under the Imperius as well” added a Hufflepuff girl, giving the Slytherin a sympathetic smile.  
The Professor gave her a curt nod and continued her lesson.  
“I love her” Theo whispered, elbowing him in the ribs, and Draco, who was thinking that not long ago he was like Smith, couldn’t do anything but agree. 

Having a free period after Defence, Theo and Draco sent Blaise on his way to Arithmancy and decided to take advantage of the good weather. With the sun kissing their cheeks, they discarded their robes and walked towards the lake. “Perfect” Theo sighed in contentment, plopping his satchel unceremoniously against the trunk of a three. Around them, quite a few other students were enjoying the late September day. The scent reaching them from the Gardens was delicious, and Draco let his body melt to the ground.  
“It’s refreshing, the way Ernie is so into traditions despite being an Hufflepuff. He is worse than you. Did you know that his parents own —“ Theo was blabbing but stopped when he noticed what had caught Draco’s attention.  
Oh the shore, just a few metres away, a familiar pair of ginger and black heads was walking in their direction.  
“Oh, who is befriending the Saviour now?” He mocked.  
Draco rolled his eyes.  
The group stopped, and he saw that there was a third person with them, a brunet almost as tall as Weasley. Draco looked at the blue tie of Terry Boot in mild surprise.  
Weasley was shaking his head, laughing “Well, as long as you have stopped going after my family. That’s all I am saying”.  
Harry threw him a pebble “You are an idiot, Ron”. But he was smiling, too.  
Weasley yelped and gave Boot a grin “Are you really sure?”  
Sure of what? The Ravenclaw was looking at Harry fondly, his cheeks pink. Draco was confused.  
The ginger shrugged “Your call, mate”, and that earned him a kick from the other Gryffindor. Harry was pushing him away with his foot “Don’t you have somewhere to be, maaate?”.  
Weasley faked offence “Ok, ok. I’m going”. And with a last salute, he left.  
Draco watched as the two remaining boys sat down, their feet grazing the water. They were staring at each other awkwardly, but both were grinning. Then, Boot reached for the other boy’s hand and intertwined their fingers.  
Oh. Oooh. So the Ravenclaw didn’t want to jump on Granger after all.  
“Our time has passed” Theo commented, eying the couple. There wasn’t sadness or regret in his voice, as there wasn’t any in Draco’s when he agreed.  
He sat down next to Draco and they watched as the Gryffindor tilted his head to give his companion a brief kiss.  
“You know, I could kiss him too, just for doing this. . . Harry, I mean. After him kissing a boy, I could make out with Filch and nobody would care.” Theo said in glee.  
“Theo, you are gross” Draco shuddered.  
“I could do worse than Harry Potter” He replied, laughing.  
Draco wasn’t talking about Harry. And from Theo’s amused expression, the other boy knew it well.  
“I bet they won’t last” He added after a while, giving Draco’s foot a nudge.  
“Ah, young love” Blaise voice observed, like he was 100 years old. They turned to greet their friend, who was fumbling with the knot of his tie.  
Draco felt a bit like an old spinster as they resumed their spying.  
“It won’t last” Blaise said, repeating Theo’s words “Boot was in our Potion group. He is way too boring for Potter”.  
And, despite none of them had exchanged more than a few words with the Ravenclaw and knew virtually nothing about him, Draco found himself smiling.

Who knew that Harry Potter was. . . Well, that he kissed boys. Draco had spent his life disregarding his own sexuality, and there came the Gryffindor, kissing other boys like he ate his toast. In front of people. Draco had been thinking, obsessing, about it for a week. Finally, he had cornered the other wizard in an empty corridor.  
Now that he had Harry alone he wasn’t really sure what exactly he wanted to say. He stepped closer, careful not to alarm the other boy of his presence and taking advantages of his unawareness to observe him better. This year, Harry seemed uncharacteristically concerned with his studies and Draco thought that the lack of a threat looming over his shoulders, making the future a probability more than an uncertainty, might be playing a role in his newfound commitment. From his standpoint Draco could only see him from the back but the messy stack of books and a half written transfiguration essay at his left told him the other boy was not simply basking in the sun filtering trough the window. He was sitting on the rather large bay of one of the massive windows opening the wall of the unused section of the Fourth floor. His head was bent forward in concentration and Draco could hear a soft chanting of incantations, almost whispered in a strange lulling way. A clicking sound and a small cry of triumph broke Draco from his dazed state and Harry suddenly spoke  
“I can see you in the reflection, you know?” He said, voice calm and levelled. It was frustrating, the way he seemed unfazed about everything.  
“Funny, i thought your blindness was clinically proven”.  
The Gryffindor shook his head in amusement.  
“I wasn’t trying not to be seen” Draco retaliated. The other boy turned around, letting his leg dangle from the edge of his makeshift seat and addressed him with a curious tilt of his head. He was holding a small intricate object in his hands, thumb lazily brushing soft circles on the surface, and Draco felt a surge of recognition “Is that a magical puzzle box?”. He had more than once delighted himself by solving the testing riddles but the patience required didn’t seem to click with his idea of the boy in front of him.  
“I seem to be lacking in patience and concentration”, Harry replied, as if reading his mind “Hermione thought I would benefit from the exercise. There’s a treat inside” he pointed at a discarded box behind him with a chocolate frog wrapping on top. “You know, for motivation”.  
“It doesn’t seem like something you would enjoy” Draco mused and he could see a flick of irritation passing in the other wizard’s eyes.  
“Because you know me so well” Harry sighed, shaking his head “It really helps. . . to relax and focus, I mean. And it’s a challenge, I’ve always liked a challenge”. He raised his chin and locked Draco in a gaze that just proved so, but the Slytherin was still thinking about his first statement. Because you know me so well, and Merlin’s beard if that wasn’t true.  
“Why did you kiss Boot?” He asked hurriedly.  
“Terry?” Harry looked pensive “He is a good kisser. And rather pretty, I suppose”  
“I suppose” Draco repeated, unthinkingly, but blinked furiously at the other boy questioning smile and scrubbed his eyes, willing his brain to start functioning.  
“But he is a boy” he said, feeling stupid.  
“I wasn’t aware” Harry’s cry sounded horrified but he quickly started chuckling “I’ll make sure to tell him”.  
He suddenly stopped laughing to look at Draco with defiance, as if waiting for him to make a snarky comment.  
Draco huffed “I’ve kissed Theo before” he supplied, but Potter didn’t react, so he stared impatiently.  
“Uhm, ewwww” was not the answer he was expecting, so he glared, obtaining only a louder chuckle in response.  
“What I mean is” He said, pausing with a sigh “Aren’t you scared?”  
“Nah, he seems innocuous” But the other boy must have sensed his frustration because he hastily added “I know you are talking about what people might think and say about me, but I found out long time ago I never truly cared”.  
Draco thought about all the expectations that he had always tried to live up to, how his life seemed planned out from birth to follow a path, where his name and his family’s were meant to stand out in the crowd, well aware of the importance of people’s opinions of them. About how he was supposed to marry a wealthy witch and continue his family legacy. He had always cared.  
“I’ve been Harry Potter the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter the Liar, the Deluded Orphan, Dumbledore’s Pawn and the Ministry’s Poster Boy, Harry Potter the Undesiderable Number One and the freaking Saviour of the Wizarding World nonsense. I think the time to be Harry Potter the Boy that Does the Fuck He Wants is well overdue”  
Draco felt the name Harry Potter ringing in his ears and he looked at him wordlessly.  
Harry sighed and continued “So, if you are asking if I’m scared of kissing a boy because, Godric forbid, i might be Harry Potter the Sexually Confused in the next month worth of The Prophet’s prints, the answer is no. I am not scared. . . Not this time and not about this”.  
“How did it happen? I mean, I thought you and the girl Weasley —“ He couldn’t help being curious.  
The other boy looked mildly embarrassed, and kept his gaze on the floor when he muttered “He actually overhead me talking to Ginny. She was joking that since I have reach maturity enough to admit my first crush was a guy, it wasn’t fair that, now that we called it off between us, I had double the options. Terry sort of jumped in and asked me out”  
“Diggory?” Draco guessed, remembering how the other boy had talked about the Hufflepuff’s death.  
“Wha — No!” Harry shook his head, a faint blush “What happen with Cedric was a different kind of awakening. . . It was when I realised that things were bad. . . But I wasn’t interested that way. It was her older brother, Bill” he whispered almost conspiratorially.  
“Well, your strange fascination with redheads, that you should be scared about” Draco said, curling is lip in mock disgust.  
Harry laughed, eyes twinkling in amusement, looking a bit surprised at Draco’s joke but quite relaxed. When he stopped he suddenly turned serious and tilted his chin to better look in the Slytherin’s eyes “I didn’t know you were —“. He appeared unsure.  
“Gay?” Draco supplied, because he was. It felt liberating to say it out loud.  
“No, that’s the entire point. Nobody knows. . . Well, except for Theo”. He realised he was tired of the whole situation, of being afraid when there wasn’t anything but himself to face.  
The Gryffindor gave him a soft smile, scooting to the side to leave some space for Draco to sit. “You know. . . it’s okay” He said, in a earnest voice.  
And Draco knew he was telling the truth. That night he had a letter to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am sorry. I hope you forgive me, for the slow burn and everything. I wanted things to develop naturally and them to have this talk.  
> Anyway, to quote my sweet child Theo “I bet it won’t last”.  
> Except I know, it won’t.  
> But the chapter came quickly, so that’s a plus, right? Right. So no hate for the author!


	16. A boy’s apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This was quick, but I am on a roll. It’s actually my favourite interaction between the two of them as of yet, and I had lots of fun writing it, so I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did putting it into words.
> 
> Also, Theo is probably my favourite character to write. He doesn’t say much but I feel connected to all he says.
> 
> Thanks for reading

Oh,  
my dearest Draco,

I think I have known since you and Theo were little. Only, just recently I have matured enough to accept it, and for that I am sorry. Parents need growing up too, so I hope you will forgive me.  
You are our son, Draco, we love you no matter whom you decide to love.  
I haven’t lost you in the war, I’m not going to lose you over something that is part of you.  
Be proud of who you are, my darling, and this time I don’t mean as a Malfoy, but of the young man you have become. Your father and I are. 

Waiting impatiently for Christmas break, I send you all our love.

Your mother.

Draco heartbeat slowed as he took a deep breath and then another. It had taken him a whole two weeks to compose the letter to his parents and three days awaiting for the response. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Part of him had known they had chosen family over everything, and it was likely that they would eventually do it again.  
In the days waiting for his owl to come back, he had imagined his mother’s reaction. Maybe she would assure him it wasn’t a big deal, that a pureblooded wife would understand a man’s need to search for other pleasures outside the marriage. The idea had depressed him greatly. His father didn’t say much of anything, after the war, but Draco had pictured the disappointed look in his eyes.  
But this. This letter in his hands was all Draco had wished for and not dared to hope.  
His mother was right, they did do some growing up. He read her words of apology once more and knew he needed to talk to Theo, who was strangely missing from their room.  
He came clean with Blaise about his preferences a few days before. The boy had raised his eyebrows, looking up from his book. “Do not mock my intellect, Draco” he had commented, before resuming his reading.  
Draco had remarked that he was starting to sound more and more like Professor Snape, but in his heart he was grateful for Blaise.  
He called to his friend, who was sitting at the old desk they shared, head buried into his Arithmancy notes.  
“Where is Theo?”  
“I am not his keeper”. Definitely Professor Snape.  
“Blaise!” Draco warned.  
“Fine. He’s in the Gardens. But he’s in a mood, so don’t upset him”. He replied, sternly.  
“Good. Now repeat that part about not being his keeper. . . Slowly, as if you believe it”.  
Draco left before the other boy could think of a retort.  
While working on a design for the Gardens, they had decided to place one stone bench on each side of Dumbledore’s grave, facing the calming waters of the lake. Luna had said it would be like sitting for a chat with the Headmaster.  
He found Theo on the left one, twirling a red Chrysanthemum in between his fingers while he stared at a point far away. It was drizzling lightly and his hair was plastered to his forehead, his eyes squinted.  
“Mind if i sit?” Draco asked, cautiously.  
“I told Blaise I wanted to be alone” the other boy replied, gaze still fixed in the distance.  
“If that’s what you want, I’ll leave”.  
“No, it’s fine”.  
Draco sat on the edge of the bench, and together they watched as the rain drops disturbed the surface of the lake with a soft tapping sound.  
“Would you like me to cast an Impervious on your clothes?” Theo asked. He obviously hadn’t bothered on himself, so Draco shook his head.  
“I am here” he said, gesturing in the direction of the flower. “You can talk to me, Theo”.  
“Do you think you can miss someone that you don’t remember?”.  
Draco pondered on the question “I think you can miss what they represent” he replied, eventually.  
“I just wonder how things would have been hadn’t she died. I know she wasn’t like my father, grandma would say it all the time. And I do remember her”.  
“She would have loved you spoiled”. Draco assured, knowing that his friend was thinking of what would have been of his brother had their mother raised him instead, but not quite sure if Theo was ready to go there.  
“Stephen told me she was funny. I used to be jealous, but now I know it wasn’t his fault I didn’t remember. . . I think that’s actually why I’m rarely sad about her, so at the end I’m the lucky one. The one without memories to be sad about.”  
“If anything like my mother, she would probably tell you you are going to catch a cold if you stay out in the rain”.  
As if on cue, Theo sneezed.  
“Talking about my mother, I’ve received her letter”. Draco said, taking the envelope out of his robe pocket and casting a protective charm on it.  
He passed it to the other boy “Open it”.  
But Theo turned to him instead “Are you okay?”  
“Yes. She apologised. . . And that’s why I’m here. I wanted to apologise, too. . . To you.”  
He waited until his friend had finished running his eyes over the page.  
Unexpectedly, Theo chuckled “Do you remember when your mother had tried to convince us that my infatuation with Kirley Duke was just a normal interest of a little child for a celebrity?”  
They were eight when the Weird Sisters had made it into the bronze collection of the chocolate frogs cards. When Theo had found the one with the picture of the Lead Guitarist of the band, just 17 and fresh out of Hogwarts, he had inspected it with a great deal of interest, before declaring, in front of Narcissa, that he was going to marry him. Draco, who had been looking at Kirley Duke’s smooth, shiny hair with a twinge of irritation, had replied that that wasn’t possible, as the guitarist was a man. They had argued until his mother’s intervention.  
“She said that of course men don’t marry other men, but all little boys have a celebrity hero, it was simple like that. . . That you were too young to understand what marriage meant, and you would, once you met the right woman”.  
“Still haven’t met her” Theo said “Anyhow, he got married some time ago”  
“Please!” Draco exclaimed, in a high pitch voice, then daintily “He had terrible hair, anyway”.  
They looked at each other and then started giggling, just like when they were eight.  
“Do you think she knew then? About me, I mean”.  
“Of course she knew. You were incredibly jealous” the other boy replied, shoving him off the bench.  
Draco stood there, still smiling “Im glad i told them, I should have done a long time ago”.  
“No” Theo disagreed “I think you waited for the right moment. Neither you or them were ready, before.”  
“About that, Theo, I am sorry. You deserved better than to be my dirty secret”.  
“Yeah, but you are a better friend now than you were a lover then. And it’s like when we were kids again, I missed it”.  
When they had started Hogwarts they were pretty close, but then Theo hadn’t been interested in the spotlight and in Draco’s new gang. So, as it often happens between childhood friends, they went their separate ways. But after the Yule Ball in fourth year, Draco, frustrated with Pansy’s clinginess, had stumbled upon the other boy on his way back to the Dungeons. “So, finally met your love interest?” He had teased, before he could stop the words falling from his lips. He had sounded more scornful that intended, and Theo had spat “At least I am not marrying Pansy”.  
Draco had kissed him, then. Young, and sloppy, and a bit angry. They had kissed, and a little more, for the rest of the year, and then the year after. Alone. Always alone, Draco had been careful. Theo wasn’t happy, and Stephen knew he was gay, anyway. It was all that counted, for him. But Draco was scared, and had said no. Draco had said he thought Theo wanted his life easy, and Theo did. And kissing alone, at fourteen, was better than no kissing at all. So they did, until Draco had grown agitated, and angry and demanding, as his life spiralled out of his control. So it had been Theo’s turn to say no.  
“I missed it, as well. You’ve always been part of my life, and I can’t imagine it any other way”. He said, meaning every word.  
“I know. That’s why I forgive all the shit you pull. And just so you know, when I was really angry I used to imagine you were Kirley Duke”.  
Yes, Draco was definitely grateful for his friends.

“And that’s why the spells aimed at the mind are, in my opinion, the most dangerous kind”.  
Professor Achebe was concluding her lesson, but Draco’s brain was already running trough what they had discussed during the hour.  
He had always thought the Imperius to be the most lenient of the Unforgivables, almost not justifiable to be in the league with the Cruciatus and the Killing Curse. But Professor Achebe gave him a new perspective.  
You are taking away another person’s liberty, their control, she had said. Pain goes away, as much as it hurts in the moment, it will pass. Death is a different matter, because when you are taking a life there is no coming back, but it’s the people who loved the deceased the ones that will have to live with the consequences.  
When you control, though, or modify the mind, it’s only the victim of the spell that will have to face the actions their body performed without their consent. Something done by them but not wanted. And yet, they couldn’t stop it from happening. Professor Achebe had told them that often those victims, although knowing they were indeed the injured parties, couldn’t help blaming themselves, especially if they were made to do something terrible. It was a different kind of torture, long lasting.  
Something terrible. Like being part of Draco’s scheme to kill Dumbledore.  
He went straight to the Headmistress’s office after the class, and before lunch time the next day he was on his way to Hogsmeade.  
It was a cold Saturday, and Draco blew on his hands to keep them warm. He was too nervous for magic. Apologising to Theo was one thing. Easy, they cared about each others. Theo didn’t need to be polite. Draco was hoping for anything but politeness.  
He entered the Three Broomsticks and headed straight to the counter, without looking around. Madam Rosmerta was rearranging the bottles on the shelves, but stopped as he approached.  
Breathe. Again. “I know I am not welcome here —“ he started, before she could say anything “and I will go as soon as I am finished, and never come back if you wish so.”  
She moved her mouth to speak, but he had to get it out “I want to apologise. I should probably be in Azkaban for what I did to you, but I’m not and just because I was extremely lucky. You were just an easy target and all I could think about was myself and my safety. . . I didn’t stop to consider you in the picture. I’m not asking for forgiveness but, for what is worth, I am sorry.”  
The bartender gave him a long, hard stare “Young man, it’s a start. But if you want to stay in my establishment, you’ll have to order a drink”.  
Draco sighed in relief.  
He was sipping on his Butterbeer when he felt someone sitting beside him.  
“That was surprisingly decent of you”.  
“Granger” He greeted. The witch appeared tired and worn out. He noticed a couple at one of the few occupied tables, looking out of place and glancing nervously in her direction. There was a third cup of tea next to theirs. The man was pale and thin, while the woman had dark skin and Granger’s bushy hair. Her parents.  
He gave the witch a shrug “Thank you. It was overdue, but yesterday, after Defence —“  
“Professor Achebe?”  
“Yeah”  
“She makes you reflect, right? Kind of reminds me of McGonagall”. The girl said, with a tone of admiration.  
“She is a great Professor” Draco agreed. “Anyway, since we are on the topic of apologies —“  
“You dont have to say it” She interrupted.  
“You were a better witch than me” he said, instead. Because that was part of the problem.  
“And I took great pleasure in being one”. She sighed in the direction of her parents “I’ve decided to come clean with my parents. I did something, during the war. . . What I thought I had to do. They forgave me, but I wanted to tell them all the truth. What they had missed, why I did it. I guess we all had our apologies to make. It must be the day, Harry—“  
She stopped herself.  
Harry?  
“Who is he apologising to?” Draco couldn’t fathom who the person that literally died for everybody else would need to say sorry to.  
She gave him a long, calculating look. When Draco thought she wouldn’t reply, she spoke “Harry, he sometimes still. . . Feels guilty.”  
“For what?”  
“For the people that died”. She said, looking uncomfortable, like she was revealing a secret.  
“That’s ridiculous” he declared, baffled.  
She nodded, sighing.  
“Why are you telling me this?” He asked.  
“Because, as you said it, it’s ridiculous. Harry told me you have talked a few times, recently. Civilly. . . And maybe he needs to hear it from a different voice. From someone that doesn’t have any reason to sugarcoat the truth”.  
“If you want me to tell Potter he is stupid, I am on it” he said, importantly.  
She cracked a small smile “He said you call him Harry, now”.  
“He must be delusional” He muttered, unconvincingly.

Draco was still thinking about what Granger had said when luck wanted that he spotted just the person he was looking for. He was half way to the castle when he noticed a patch of yellow just at the edge of the forest. There was only one person that would agree to wear one of Granger’s obnoxious knitted hats, and a bright yellow one at that.  
Soon, like an insect attracted to the light, he felt his feet change course and carry him towards the other boy.  
On his way, he saw a bucket of dead rats just outside Hagrid’s hut. An idea flashed in his mind and he quickly aimed an Accio at it.  
“Fancy seeing you here, Potter” he greeted, in a formal tone.  
“Yeah, what a coincidence” the other boy, who had been following Draco’s descent with his eyes for a while, replied with ill-concealed sarcasm.  
“The most fortunate” Draco agreed cheerfully “So, what brings you here in such a cold autumnal day, all brooding and mysterious?”  
The Gryffindor looked suspicious “What are YOU doing here?”.  
“Feeding the Thestrals, of course. Which, If I should listen to Miss Lovegood, is one of your favourite pastimes”.  
Harry gave an incredulous chuckle “Luna is deliciously barmy”.  
Draco started walking towards the forest. “So, are you coming?” He yelled, without turning back.  
The boy caught up, but stopped as soon as he reached him “Wait, I haven’t been in the forest since — well. . .”  
“Oh, please Po-Harry, let me take a picture of that martyr look. The Prophet is going to have a field day with an image of their agonizing hero”. He pleaded.  
“Why are you being a dick?” Harry asked, more curious than angry.  
“To stop you from thinking. Is it working?”  
“Who said I was thinking?”  
“What are you doing here, Harry?” Draco asked again, seriously.  
The Gryffindor deflated “Tomorrow is— would be Professor Lupin’s birthday. I’m going to Andromeda’s to spend it with Teddy. I haven’t seen them since the opening of the Gardens. . .” He trailed off.  
Draco had briefly noticed his aunt being there, she looked so much like Bellatrix he had known straight away. But she was a stranger, and that wasn’t the place. Maybe one day.  
“You know, I keep thinking that he should have his father there with him. Instead, he only has me” Harry’s voice was broken, and Draco found that he didn’t like it. The Gryffindor always sounded annoyingly strong.  
“But he has you.” He argued.  
“That’s my point —“  
“No, you are not listening. It’s my point. He has you. He could be alone but he has you” He wanted to get the message across, but the other boy’s eyes were so wide and green he had to turn away. He shook his head and faced him again “You are just 18, yet you are there for a kid to whom you are not even related. I don’t know much about Professor Lupin, but he was an adult and from what I’ve seen in the pensieve he was friend with your father. . .This wasn’t your war, it was everybody’s. He had lost someone too. Isn’t it somehow offensive to his memory to think he didn’t have the rights to fight for it as much as you did?” He hoped he wasn’t pushing too far, but he kept going “Harry, you died for all of them. . . Us. Don’t you reckon is time to let other people take their risks? To accept their sacrifices, and let go?”  
Harry looked vulnerable, but held Draco’s gaze.  
Touch him, Draco’s mind commanded. He wanted to reach out, but they weren’t there yet, so he tried to lighten the mood.  
“The only apologies you should make are to your Ravenclaw for that atrocious hat you are wearing” he drawled, peering at the offending accessory as if it was personal.  
Harry narrowed his eyes, and the yellow actually contrasted well with his dark hair. “Its truly remarkable, how you bully your way into comfort”. He observed, almost impressed.  
“What can I say, I am a keeper.” He didn’t really mean to say that, so he added quickly “Come on, those horses are not feeding themselves”  
They searched for the Thestrals while bickering with each other. It was a strange new dynamic, something that Draco had only been able to do with Theo and Blaise.  
When he took out his wand to levitate the rats, Harry stopped what he was saying.  
“Your wand! I actually haven’t asked. Does it still work?”  
Draco thought about it “To a certain extent. It recognises me, but some of the spark is missing. Let’s say I might not reach the pinnacles of power with it, but it’s ok. Unicorn core is loyal, after all, so it’s still my wand”. And yours. Surprisingly, he was fine with that.


	17. A few drawings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I need to find a better way to post this stuff.  
> I am going to add all the art to this chapter so I won’t continue to interrupt the narrative

Well, I did a little drawing of Draco. Im not sure about the eyes but I’m satisfied with the age (I mean I think he looks about the right age).

http://fav.me/ddfeo7l

Anyway I might do a portrait view of all the characters in the same way, so if you have any you want to see let me know

Draco and Harry together: http://fav.me/ddfki90


	18. A boy falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a chapter at last! Yey for me!
> 
> Anyway, I am writing something else as well (a bit of self promotion 😏) with a much better title than this one. So, if you want, check it out! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading

As winter approached, the temperature in the Slytherin Common room dropped considerably, but Draco didn’t mind. This year was different. It wasn’t uncomfortable, didn’t seep in his bones and his heart like the frosty embrace of loneliness, when your life is on the line and you are suspended between your past and a future that might never come, with nobody there to share the heat.  
He sat cozily on one of the black sofas facing the fireplace, stretching just enough that the air around his face was still fresh but his toes could bask in the warmth coming from the heart. He pulled the neck of his soft wholly jumper over his chin, holding his cold cheeks in between his palms, and smiled. Yes, everything was different.  
Well, almost everything, he thought noticing Pansy, as the girl entered his line of sight. She looked lost. The room was sparsely occupied, as most of the younger pupils were enjoying the first snow of the season and the older ones were catching up on studies before the holidays. She spotted him, and he moved further up the sofa to free some space for her to join him. She sat down on the edge, hands gripping the worn leather on both sides. The reflection of the fire danced in her dark eyes, and for a while they were silent.  
Then she turned to face him, almost angrily. “I hate it. I hate it all!” She spat, then softly, a dejected tone “Why don’t you, Draco?”.  
Pansy had been one of his first friends and, like with Vincent and Theo, they had grown up together in very similar settings. Only, while Theo’s life had taken a different direction until their paths crossed again, starting a new kind of friendship that was genuinely out of mutual care rather than circumstances, Draco had never felt more distant from the girl sitting beside him.  
“What do you want me to say, Pansy? Things have happened”.  
“You used to.” She argued “More than anyone else. They are the same people!”  
Draco wasn’t really convinced they were, that most of the people affected by it could have gone trough the war unchanged. But then, he had never taken the time to get to know the students from the other Houses before. “I am the one who’s not, though.” He replied, calmly.  
Pansy dug her nails further into the fabric of the sofa and turned away from him. “I’ve seen it happening to you too, Draco. People saying you shouldn’t be here, that you don’t deserve to. Those Ravenclaws last week. . . Fifth years! And you didn’t say anything. Why are you letting people treat you like this?”.  
A few days before, after Draco had entered the library in search of material for their latest Potion assignment, a group of younger Ravenclaw had stood up and left. They had looked in his direction and declared they didn’t feel comfortable to be in the same place as someone like him. Draco had recognised one of the girls as Karli Webbs, who’s mother was killed during the war while on the run with other Muggleborns. Part of him had wanted to retort, to tell them that he was just their age when his life was turned upside down and that he had paid dearly for his stupid decisions, but the bigger part understood where they came from. It was the first time he had been directly confronted about his past but he knew that others, like Silas Avery in sixth year and even 12 years old Amanda Atkinson, whose family was only moderately connected to the Death Eaters’ activities, had received similar comments. And Pansy. He had frozen in place, unsure of what to do. Then Luna had walked by, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, just a quick brush, and whispered “Don’t worry, I think they meant blond people. They don’t seem to like me that much either”. He had blinked. Harry, who was just leaving with the Ravenclaw, had sniggered, giving his friend a look of pure affection. The comment was so innocent, and thoughtful, and surreal that Draco had found himself softly chuckling too. And like that, the feeling of inadequacy had dimmed to an insignificant tingling on the back of his neck. Prejudice would always exists and maybe in some measure he deserved it, but he had changed. If some couldn’t or refused to see it, others did, in that quiet yet heart-warming way kind people do. They didn’t scream it for the wind to carry, but they showed it to him nonetheless. It was that easy acceptance that made it all ok. That was important and what mattered over everything. But Draco knew that it went both ways.  
So he turned to Pansy “It’s ok, because I was like that, and now I’ve changed. Maybe some day they will find their reason to change to”. And if they don’t it’s their loss, because the world with this new eyes looks brighter and a bit more colourful.  
“But we do belong here, Draco. This is rightfully ours, we were born into it!” Pansy sounded stubborn, as if trying to hold onto a slippery surface, afraid to discover what would greet her if she was to let go.  
“Are you still set on that blood thing, Pansy?”  
“I don’t know” She shook her head “This is what I’ve believed since I was a kid”.  
“Why did you come back?” He asked. Part of him hadn’t expected her to.  
She closed her eyes, grimacing in pain. When she opened them, they were shimmering, her voice low.  
“Because I am a nobody. Greg has left, you know? His father wasn’t lucky like yours. . . And he left. He has family in the continent, and after Vince he couldn’t come back. But I have no future, no qualification. Who wants anything to do with the daughter of supporters of the Dark Side? And you know what’s funny?” She laughed bitterly “ — We were even too cowards to join Him properly”. Pansy’s parents had never taken the mark.  
She pursed her lips and looked at the fire again “My beliefs, they are all that I have left”.  
Draco squeezed her knee gently “You will find out that, to move forward, you first have to let go. And sometimes people will surprise you”.  
“I don’t know. Everything is different. Daphne is friend with Lovegood. . .I saw you, with Potter, too. You used to despise him the most”.  
Draco felt like the time he used to hate Harry Potter belonged to another life, one that was long gone.  
“Well, he is quite all right when he doesn’t have things to save. And, Pansy, you are not alone”.  
She gave him a small smile, just a slight lift of her lips “I guess”. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Theo entering the Common Room and, placing one hand on top of Draco’s, she levered herself up. Her touch lingered for a moment and then, with a quick nod, she left.  
Draco watched the fire die.

After the Holidays the students of age who wished to do so, were invited back a couple of days earlier in order to discuss their employment options further. They weren’t pressured into making a decision, but it was helpful to be able to share their ideas with the Professors specialised in the subjects they wanted to pursue. Draco had talked to Professor Slughorn and, in the spur of the moment, decided to get Flitwick’s opinion about antiques and restoration charms, an area of work that, despite the bad memories connected to it, he found fascinating. The Head of Ravenclaw had been enthusiastic at Draco’s interest, agreeing that many people possessed objects they were sentimentally attached to but that were often damaged because of age and usage. He had left the office rather satisfied. That morning at breakfast, he and Longbottom had even discussed the possibility of further expanding the research on fertilisers started at the beginning of the year. Overall, a pretty good day. He was just on his way to find Theo, who had declare he wanted to know more about Mind healing, when he noticed Harry coming from the same direction as Professor Achebe’s office.  
“What are you doing here?” He asked, a bit bewildered. He had always thought Harry was set on being an Auror and, when the boy hadn’t returned the night before with most of the others, it had confirmed his beliefs.  
Harry shrugged “Just going trough some options”.  
“Are you telling me the defender of the weak, the hero of every witch in distress, is done with fighting the evil?” His tone was exaggeratedly incredulous but Draco was curious.  
“It looks like it. Evil is just not what it used to be” Harry pouted.  
“So are you just going to find somewhere comfortable to rest your tired limbs?” He prodded.  
“It’s not going to be exactly difficult to find employment with my name, is it?” The other wizard replied, somewhat bitterly. “To be fair, I am not sure what I want to do. We kind of discussed teaching. . .” He scratched the back of his neck shyly, and Draco found himself nodding encouragingly. “But yeah, I think I want to travel a bit. Take care of Teddy. . . See stuff, you know —“ He trailed off.  
Before he could think about it, another of the things that had been exchanged over the breakfast table, came out of Draco’s mouth with a glee he didn’t expect “Nothing to stop you, now that you are a free man”.  
Something had happened between the Gryffindor and his Ravenclaw during the holidays.  
“Nothing at all” Harry said, not sounding very sad about it.  
“Well Harry and Terry sounded stupid anyway. It has a weird ring to it.” He commented, his lips quicker than his brain.  
“You have a point” the other boy laughed, like if it made sense. “Anyway, I think we shared. . . What did you call it? My strange fascination with red heads”.  
Draco feigned horror and the Gryffindor let out a loud chuckle. “No, not like that. It was mutual. I just think there is potential there. . . Terry is obsessed with dragons, he is going to Romania after graduations. We just want different things”. He shrugged again.  
Draco felt like smiling. “Red is overrated. Dragons, on the other side, I can understand”.  
“Mhmm” The other boy said noncommittally, a mirroring smile playing on his lips. “Anyway, we are going to have a small gathering in the Great Hall tonight. I think everyone will be there, you can tell the other Slytherins but I have a feeling they might know already. We have been given the ok to stay past curfew.” His grin was excited now.  
Definitely a good day.

The round table was out again, but instead of being placed in the centre of the room they had moved it all the way to the left. It was crammed with food and drinks of all kinds, courtesy of the house elves and the Irish heritage of the Gryffindors. Soft music was playing on the background and students sat comfortably on the few sofas they had transfigured and on the blankets spread all over the floor. Hogwarts had never felt so young and lively. Draco was coming back from the loo, when a voice called him from one of the alcoves.  
“Hey, psssss. . .”  
Draco stepped into the dark corner and was received by Harry’s floating head. The boy giggled. Draco had noticed a mixed group of students leaving the Hall some time before, and knew Harry was one of them.  
“We are playing hide and seek. It’s a muggle game. . .”  
“I know what hide and seek is, you oaf. I was young, once”.  
“Oh” Harry said, a bit surprised “Well, I never played before. Anyway, the rule is no concealing charms —” He giggled louder. It sounded pleasantly warm. “But, you see, when making the rules Ron hasn’t considered my invisibility —“  
In that moment, Weasley’s baritone voice resonated from somewhere in the proximity “Harry! Merlin be damned, I am not going to look for you all night”.  
They heard the ginger’s footsteps moving away and Harry whispered conspiratorially “He has looked in this place three times already”.  
Draco assessed the ridiculous boy in front of him, and laughed. He felt comfortable and a bit tipsy and the happiest he had been in a long time.

It was a week after, when they were together in the library, that he heard Harry’s laugh again. They were sitting at a long table, a few of them. His eyes had lifted involuntary to search for the origin of the sound. A sound that he could recognise everywhere. Harry was chatting to Macmillan, clearly amused. Their eyes met, and the Gryffindor smiled. And in that mundane moment, just a normal instant of an everyday, it hit him. He stared at the other boy’s open face. His boyish, soft, beautiful face. His eyes widen, his pulse raced, and for the first time Draco noticed how Harry stood out even when the room was full. He adverted his gaze, not quite sure what to do with this new information. It was long before his heart slowed to its usual rhythm.


	19. A boy’s courage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy peeps! I know this took time, but in the meanwhile I made a tumblr page called InconsequentialMania if you want to check it out. Also, this is the chapter before the last (there will be an Epilogue, also). I can’t believe I’ve almost finished something. Continuity has alway been my weakness. 
> 
> Anyhow, enjoy and thanks for reading ❤️

That year, Luna’s birthday fell on a Saturday. Having turned of age in the dungeons of the Manor, with the lone company of a tattered Ollivander and a few wandering bugs, her friends were adamant to assure her 18th would be full of positive memories. Luna had smiled, with that nonchalant levity of someone able to see the positive in every situation.  
“It was lovely, receiving your wishes” she told her friends, with such sincerity it almost made sense that knowing they cared was all she had needed to make her captivity bearable.  
“I don’t believe I’ve thanked you, Draco” she added, turning to him.  
Draco shifted uncomfortably “I really didn’t do much”. He still wasn’t sure how to speak to her. Not a person he would have ever imagined associating himself with, he was discovering more and more every day how much he actually appreciated Luna. There was no need for words, with Luna. No need for much, really. She projected an aura of acceptance that made him feel safe in his own skin. It was a refreshing break from the constant need to impress and come up on top that had always characterised most of his interactions. Yet, without judging, she had the ability of making people reevaluate their own opinions. Many thought her crazy but, after getting to know her, Draco had come to the conclusion that most were just unable to cope with seeing the world and themselves trough her eyes. So a praise from her was a little bit thrilling but also scary because it made him think about how he could have been better. Tried a little harder. The scariest thing of all, thought, was that he was sure she meant it and that pushed him to come to terms with the things he didn’t do, and find a sense of self worth in the little actions he did take. Because overcoming guilt was a terrible battle to face, and part of him wasn’t ready to see what was after. The rest of his life and, maybe, even happiness. After a childhood of having all he had demanded, Draco was entering adulthood questioning what he deserved.  
“Remember, it might take big actions to win a war, but it’s the small ones that keep the spirits high”. She declared sagely, passing him a sugar quill. She was happily flipping trough the book on Magical Beasts he had bought her, her nose almost touching the pages. It was a rare edition on the lost and mythical species of the Northern Sea and Draco believed some were almost as absurd as Freshwater Plimplies. Needless to say, she looked completely engrossed over a picture of a something that looked like a cross between a toad and a musky rock. The table they shared with Longbottom, Thomas and the female counterpart of Weasley was scattered with the gainings of their earlier plunder at Honeydukes. Draco sucked on his quill and look at a spot a few tables away, sighing.  
“When are you going to tell him?” Luna asked, without raising her eyes from the book.  
He glanced around but noticed that their three companions seemed preoccupied with a discussion about sports that left Longbottom looking like a fish out of water, and weren’t paying them any attention.  
“What?” He whispered, alarmed. He was conscious his eyes were still set on Harry, who was chatting animatedly with Theo, of all people. He was still wearing his knitted yellow hat, which was ridiculous considering they had been inside for at least half an hour. His hair were barely contained and escaped in thick curls over the bridge of his nose. Draco knew Harry struggled with his own sense of guilt but, in that moment, he looked young and completely relaxed talking with Theo. He shook away a strange pang in his chest he didn’t really want to dwell on.  
“That you like him” Luna replied, matter-of-factly.  
“Probably never” he sighed again, not denying what he knew was true.  
“And why not?”  
“Because he is Harry Potter?” Because it’s complicated anyway, and most of all with him. Because Harry was one of those things that Draco wasn’t sure he could ask for.  
“No” Luna said, finally looking at him “I think you actually like him because you have stopped seeing him as Harry Potter. He got me this —“ she dug in her bag and passed him a framed watercolour painting of herself delicately petting a young Thestral. “He said he got the idea from you”. The sketch, that looked like Thomas’ doing, was beautifully expressive and Draco smiled, in lieu answering. Instead he look again at the other table, meeting Theo’s eyes. Theo, the bastard, winked.  
“You should tell him” Luna commented with finality.

The second of May came quickly, in a blur of assignments and new dynamics between the students of Hogwarts. A year from the day their school had no longer been a safe place. A year from the end of the war.  
They had all gathered on the grounds in front of the Gardens, pupils and teachers alike.  
McGonagall had given a short but heartfelt speech about the importance of remembering. “You are the children of the war, but most of all you are the children of the aftermath. . .Of the restoration. The future is yours. On your shoulders lays the peace of the wizarding world. Although you have been trough a lot, in some ways you are lucky, because you have history showing you the path and what mistakes to avoid. You have all grown up quickly, but it has made you closer to each other. I see it every day, and I am proud to be your teacher and the Headmistress of this school. I have never been more confident that you will turn out to be exceptional wizards and witches and even better human beings”. She concluded. She looked at her children with proudness and emotion, and encouraged whoever wanted to say a word to step forward.  
The crowd automatically turned to Harry and Draco noticed how his lips tightened and his posture stiffened in discomfort. Granger gave him a small understanding smile and shrugged apologetically. The boy replied with a if-I-must look and went to awkwardly stand near the Jasmine arch that marked the entrance of the Gardens.  
Harry rubbed his nose, pushing his glasses up his forehead and sighed, casting a Sonorus. Draco could sense his unwillingness and wondered how he could had ever thought the Gryffindor was one to rejoice in the spotlight.  
When he started speaking, thought, he realised he understood now why a lot of students would seek Harry and look at him for guidance. The powerful intensity in his green eyes had people holding their breaths.  
“I know you think I am the hero of this war—“ The boy said, clearing his throat “And I will not start speaking about merits of demerits. But if there is something this war has taught me, is that we are all humans. All of us, even Voldemort.” Some of the audience still shuddered at the name. “It was his error, to think he was invincible, and at the end he died just like everyone else. Nothing spectacular, nothing great. I am just Harry, I might have done something big but it was a mix of circumstances and a lot of help from the people that care about me.”  
He scratched the back of his head, stalling for words. “We all have flaws. Take Dumbledore and Snape, for example. Were they good men? Ultimately. But they made plenty of bad decisions”. He turned to the graves, that were barely visible between the branches of the lush vegetation. “It’s all a matter of what we learn from our errors.”  
Harry stood there, embarrassed but a little proud. Draco saw Granger’s tears, and knew the Gryffindor’s friends were too. And while he shared the feeling, he wanted to have a reason to be proud of himself, too. And Draco had learnt a lot from his mistakes. Maybe more than any of the other young faces standing there. They were all silent, looking at Harry as if waiting for more. So he gathered all the courage that he didn’t feel he possessed and walked towards the other boy.  
Harry’s nose scrunched up in confusion but Draco just murmured “Let me”, before turning around.  
“So. . .” He started, trying to defuse the anxiety “as many of you know, I am Draco Malfoy, and I could be considered the anti-hero in comparison to our friend Potter over here”. He saw Blaise rolling his eyes at his dramatic introduction. But Draco could do this, he could talk in front of people. The other students were regarding him as I he was crazy and for a moment he felt what it must be like to be Luna. Harry, on the other side, was looking at him with an interested twinkle in his eyes. Yes, Draco could do this. “I want to share my experience, because as Harry said, we have a lot to learn from our mistakes. And I made plenty. My first mistake was to think I was better. Life proved me wrong many times, and it felt like a slap on the face every single one. . .Don’t raise your future children telling them they are perfect, that they are better. Make them feel special, say that you love them. Admit their strong suit but don’t make them feel like they need to hold it against others”.  
All the attention was now focuses on him, people hanging onto his words. It felt powerful, but a different kind of power.  
“My second big mistake was to believe I only needed myself. That I knew better than anyone else. During the war, there were moments in which I was terrified —“ He shook his head. “Even admitting this is a sign of how much I have changed. But, yeah, I was fucking scared” He looked at McGonagall apologetically, but she nodded for him to go on “I know it was a shared sentiment and many of you probably think that I put myself into that situation in the first place. . . Which I did. But once I realised it wasn’t all what I imagined, I was so scared. Still, I didn’t reach out. I didn’t seek help. Honestly, the only thing that kept me going was knowing that someone was afraid, too. Even if I was never too fond of that person —“ He heard Harry huffing behind him “it made me feel less alone”.  
Everybody was still looking at him “So, the conclusion of this lengthy monologue is don’t be an idiot and respect and listen to the ones around you” he hurried, waving a hand in dismissal. There was a pregnant pause before someone started clapping. Soon the sound became louder and Draco breathed in relief. The Headmistress smiled at him.

He was just making his back to where he was previously standing when a hand grabbed his arm.  
“Only you could finish such a speech calling everybody an idiot” Weasley commented, still looking impressed.  
“Technically, I didn —“  
“What I wanted to say, is that was powerful, Malfoy. It takes courage to do what you did.”  
Draco was surprised and oddly pleased, so he resorted to sarcasm “I didn’t know you were capable of praising me, Weasley”  
The other boy looked less impressed “Oh, shut it. You are not the only one doing all the growing up”  
“Well, sorry I ever doubted you”.  
Speaking of apologies, Draco moved to Harry, who had reached them. “I feel like you are the only one I haven’t apologised to, Potter” he stated formally.  
“That was an apology?” Weasley spluttered, but Harry just grinned.  
Draco meant for real, if anyone was in in need of hearing a sorry from his mouth it was the other wizard.  
Harry battered his worries away “It’s water under the bridge, Malfoy” He replied, keeping the formality “I know you were just jealous I was much cooler than you”  
“Mhmm, yeah. I think I’ve just learnt to live with it” Draco counteracted, knowing there was some truth in the other boy’s words. “But seriously, why was it so easy for you to move on, after our history?”. He really much wanted to know the answer.  
“I think I had enough of living trough the war to bring it forward with me” Harry shrugged “And Luna told me you were different, that you were trying. And if there is one thing i know is that Luna always tells the truth.”  
Yes, Draco thought, staring at the boy he was falling a little in love with, Luna always told the truth.


	20. A boy flying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yey! I did it! I finished it!!! i am so happy! Thanks to everybody that has been following this mad journey and I hope you like the romance😂 as in finally, sooo sorry for that ❤️
> 
> Enjoy! There will be an Epilogue to follow that is mostly written just adjusting some stuff!

“Do I have to ask him out, or will you?” Theo stopped with his fork in midair to send him a meaningful gaze.  
Draco pursed his lips, deciding it wasn’t worth an answer, and reached for the pumpkin juice. Theo, though, was a nagging little shit.  
“Do you still think you don’t deserve him? Because I can’t see any other reason not to tell him. . . That little speech you pulled got everybody sold on the Draco Malfoy’s deserve his redemption arc idea; Yet you act like you don’t believe in it yourself.” He prodded, lightly squeezing Draco’s forearm. It was a new peculiar habit of Theo, to seek contact when he was speaking. Draco knew it meant things were comfortable between them, and silently enjoyed how far their friendship had gotten. He sighed, roaming the selection of french delicacies in front of him for something that caught his fancy. He loved his breakfast sweet and had strategically sat by the tray of buttery pastries. It was only seven in the morning and the Great Hall was still mostly empty. Theo not only was a nagging shit but also an early riser, and not a very considerate one. Blaise had mumbled something from under the duvet that didn’t sound much like a declaration of affection. Draco, on the contrary, knew that once he was awake there weren’t many chances he would be able to get back into slumber. After considering the benefits of a early breakfast, he had opted to follow Theo into the Great Hall. It was pleasantly calm, just a few other students sparsely occupying the tables, and Draco could enjoy his breakfast in peace. Or so he had thought.  
He picked a small baguette, still warm from the oven, and started buttering it, already checking the jam options with the corner of his eyes.  
“It’s complicated. For once, there is going to be a major outrage if he even agrees to. . . Uhm, date me —“ he finally said, but Theo interrupted him with a growl.  
“Ugh!!Honestly, Draco!” He yelled, leaving him gobsmacked and the few heads in the room turning towards them. Theo had the decency to look sorry, and when he continued it was softly “Are you really that self assured to think people haven’t got better to do that preoccupy their minds with what you deserve or not? Yes, I will concede there will be some that won’t be pleased, but your biggest enemy is yourself. Once you get out of whatever self-pity corner you are hiding in and stop making excuses you can actually live instead of exist!” He finished, sagging on the bench with an exaggerated huff.  
Draco raised an eyebrow, not taking much offence at his friend’s accusations. He was living! But Theo was also a tad overdramatic. “Was that really necessary?”  
“Uh, maybe not” The other boy admitted, sheepishly.  
“You have poor impulse control”  
“But you like that, aye?” Theo rebounded with a knowing smirk  
Draco sighed again, wondering what he got himself into “You are terrible motivator” he scolded “But a good friend”.  
“And don’t you forget it” the other wizard replied with a smirk.  
“Buffoon”  
“Wanker”  
“Who isn’t?!”  
“But seriously, Draco. Its okay to go for what you want” Theo was resolute again, but his voice was gentle. “And its ok to be scared. If you weren’t even a little bit scared it would mean it’s not important”.  
“I know, I just can’t help thinking about what could go wrong”. Lots of things could, Draco was aware, and his self preservation sense was ringing alarm bells so loud that he could barely hear his own thoughts.  
“Think about it like that, if things do go wrong I can always Obliviate you”.  
“Oh so generous. . .” Draco conceded, biting into his roll. The bread was soft and the raspberry jam perfectly tart, but he couldn’t really enjoy the taste. In that moment Blaise plopped on the bench in front of them and, with his enviable ability to read into a situation, sensed what they were talking about. He smirked at Draco’s exasperated expression and raised his hands in front of his face in surrender “Hey, I won’t say anything”. Only when Draco started to relax, he sniggered “But Theo is right”.  
How had his life turned from an uncertain future to a reality of adolescent problems and dickhead friends, only Merlin knew. But Draco wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Draco waited until the last day. Part of him knew it was idiotic, maybe he was waisting his time. Time that he could have otherwise occupy in more pleasurable ways. But rejection was a possibility and he had convinced himself that waiting until he didn’t have to see Harry every day would only minimise damage. They had all been busy with the NEWTS anyway. Now, though, he was running out of excuses. Draco had always thought love to be easy, and had used to be cocky about his chances. But he really wanted this to work, and what if Harry didn’t? They were friends now, and Draco thought that the other boy laughed as hard as he did at his jokes. There was something about their personalities that fitted like puzzle pieces. The way Harry would call him out on his bullshit, without second thoughts, but lacking the malice of their childhood years. Draco liked that, Harry’s attitude towards his own beliefs, the fire in his voice, the fight for what was fair. And he liked to think that his own confidence and unwillingness to mollycoddle the other boy did good for Harry’s insecurities. He just hoped Harry saw it too.  
Still, he stalled.  
But that morning they had taken their last NEWT, Defence, and Hogwarts for Draco, and for Harry, was officially over. The other boy had looked a little sad. They had talked about how Hogwarts was his first real home, and Draco had wanted to ask more but hoped there would be time for that. Later. Maybe for the rest of their lives.  
So, when Harry wasn’t at dinner, Draco believed that sadness was something Harry wanted to deal with alone. He was about to leave for the Dungeons, when he met Granger’s gaze. “Quidditch field” she mouthed. Go and get him. And that was it, Draco had no more excuses. It was now or never.

The grass squelched under his boots. It had rained all afternoon but the grey clouds were dissipating and, in between the remaining ones, dusk coloured the sky pink. Draco smiled, feeling like a character out of one of those cheesy romance novels that were his mother’s secret weakness.  
Harry was where he expected him to be, sitting on the lower stand, next to a bunch of school brooms that had seen better days. He didn’t look up straight away, seemingly intent in a fight against the cuticles around his fingernails. Draco stopped, unsure. He could hear the silence, after the resonating sound of his steps on the muddy ground. Harry looked at him, then, a curious little smile playing on his lips. Draco could barely make out the faint darkness of the freckles against his colouring cheeks but didn’t move closer.  
“Hey” He greeted, his heart beating so fast he might have been dying. It felt like dying, if dying was exhilarating, and somewhat good.  
The soft rosey light reflected on Harry’s glasses, pink and gold. “Hey” he responded, and Draco felt like climbing a steep set of stairs. The first step had been taken.  
“What brings you here on such a terrific evening and all that crap?” He asked, rehearsing one of their previous conversations.  
“You are the one that seem to be following me” Harry chuckled, tilting his head.  
“School is over” Draco said, stating the obvious.  
“Yeah” The other boy replied, eyes twinkling. So, Harry was going to make this difficult. Well, he wasn’t the only one that liked a challenge.  
“Are you afraid?” Draco asked, because it was almost a routine of theirs. “Of the future?” He hurriedly added.  
“In some ways. . . I talked to the Professors after the exam this morning. I am not going into Auror training, which feels weird. . . But also kinda right, you know?”  
“Yeah, I think I understand” Draco agreed. It made sense, after everything “Do you know what you are going to do?”  
“Not fully. Rees told me the Aurors can wait, but I think I am considering an internship in Rehabilitation and Reintroduction of the Magically and Emotionally Affected. Professor Achebe explained that is similar to Muggle Social Services. . . I would still be following cases with the Aurors, and Hermione is going into law. . .” Harry rubbed his nose and blushed “I don’t know, I feel like I can relate and you know. . . My saviour complex”.  
“Honest to Merlin, that actually sounds very interesting. You surprise me everyday, Potter” Draco commented affectionately.  
Harry laughed with that pure sound Draco was getting addicted to.  
“What can I say, I am a keeper”  
It was Draco’s turn to blush. The other boy observed him for a long moment, and then said seriously “If you asked me a year ago if I was afraid of the future my honest answer would have been yes. . . I was afraid of losing someone again. . . Afraid of Teddy and being unable to love him like he deserves; afraid of what I was going to do with my life. . . Hell, Draco” he murmured, voice getting quiet, barely a whisper “I was almost afraid to live, after death was so peaceful”.  
Draco’s felt his guts twisting. “Are you, now?”  
“No” Harry replied and his face was open and sincere and beautiful “No. I am excited”.  
They looked at each other while the wind blew their hair and tickled their skin. Then Harry asked “And you? What do you want, Draco?”  
And that was it. And Draco heard his voice saying “If I might be bold, you” while he held his breath.  
Harry stood up. Draco’s body hummed in anticipation.  
But the other wizard took hold of one of the brooms “Well, I am going flying.”  
He felt his heart sinking and moved to turn away, when Harry’s playful tone added “Aren’t you coming?”  
He easily grabbed the broom that the other boy tossed at him. Harry was smirking, and Draco wanted to kiss it away.  
“Scared, Malfoy?”  
“Honestly? Yes. But one day, this pretty daft guy told me it was okay to be” he rebounded, with a smirk of his own.  
“Doesn’t sound too daft to me.”  
“Ah, wouldn’t you know it.”  
With a laugh, Harry kicked his legs and sped away in the air. Draco stared for a while at the way he graciously looped and turned like he was born to fly. Yes, he was afraid. But it was a new, exciting kind of fear.  
With that assurance in mind, he soared towards the unknown, hoping that for once things were going to work out. When his lips met Harry’s midair, the future tasted of pumpkin juice and promises, and Draco was flying.


	21. Epilogue: two men in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is mega cheesy.  
> Sorry 🙃  
> I just really wanted to name Harry’s kids differently.

It worked, somehow. Maybe because they had been children who fought; then boys and they had to fight something bigger; and lastly they were men and tired of fighting. Maybe because Draco had really, really wanted it to work, and Harry went along with it. Harry was wise, nowadays, a little in the way Dumbledore had been. Like a man that had lived through a lot and who tried to be better and to be happy.  
Yes, some scars still hurt, but together the pain was manageable. In the last years Harry’s eyes held a secret twinkle and he often declared his love for socks. Draco knew it meant he had everything he needed. Draco loved socks, too. People had accepted it pretty fast, even Weasley. Ron. They, also, were tired of fighting. And it really worked, they really worked, and the ones close to them could see it.  
Obviously they had their ups and down, like everybody else. Little obstacles in the everyday life they were building as a couple. Sometimes big obstacles.  
He had felt guilty when he had realised Harry wanted children.  
He had never said it out loud, but Draco had seen it in the way he was with Teddy. In the way he would alway sigh after closing the door behind the little boy, to then retire in the living room and curl up on the sofa. Teddy was part of their life but at the end of the day, he would always go back to Andromeda.  
A family, Harry had been deprived of one for so long and, as an adult, wanted the biggest one he could fit in his heart. Draco had felt guilty because Harry could have been with a woman, and wouldn’t that have been simpler? He knew Harry hadn’t cared about the way his children would come into his life, but Draco had wished him to have the easy way, for once. Then Luna had come along and said she would carry their child. Draco was relieved, but most of all grateful. Because, if he had learnt one thing during the war, it was that some people were kind, some people were selfless, and those were the people he wanted in his life. Harry had been ecstatic and wouldn’t stop grinning for a month. He had said it didn’t matter if the baby was biologically his, Draco could be the donor since having a proper heir was more important to him. Draco had said no, because it wasn’t, not anymore. He had stopped believing in the importance of blood a long time before. Or maybe he believed Harry’s was purer than his, just differently. He had know the child would have been his, even with Harry’s blood, or even more so. Then, a sunny evening, Luna had arrived at their house in Hogsmeade bearing a tiny pair of ridiculous knitted socks with what looked like miniature radishes dangling from the strings: the baby was on the way. The babies, as it had turned out. Luna had said twins run in her family. Draco knew it was most likely the fact that medically aided pregnancies had higher rates of multiples, but she had later birthed twins boys of her own, so maybe it was true. Their children had been born at the beginning of a really rainy march, and it had been splendid. They had been mostly bold but for a little tuft of light blond hair, to Harry bewilderment and Draco’s badly concealed triumph. He had asked Harry if he wanted to name them after his parents. Harry had said the past was in the past and as much as he could love people he never truly met, he wanted their children to have a fresh start and identity. He had somehow really gotten into muggle fairytales during Luna’s pregnancy, the two of them often found sitting shoulder to shoulder with mugs of hot chocolate and a book. Draco had blamed it on Hermione.  
So, when the day had finally arrived, they had stared into the wide eyes of their son, Jack, and the almond shaped ones of their daughter, Wendy Violet. And fell in love, a little more with each other and a lot with the tiny humans in front of them. Harry had said Jacks always had the most exciting adventures, and he hoped his children to have the best ones youth could offer. Wendy, on her part, had grown to be a true believer, just like her namesake.  
They had been blond toddlers, but Wendy’s shade had gotten progressively darker and, as an 11 years old, she sported long brown curls. Messy and wild, a little bit like her. Jack, for some reasons that were probably his mother, was still blond, albeit not as fair as Draco. His locks had a gentle wave to them. Lucius, to his son’s puzzlement, had said that Jack looked just like Draco. To Draco the boy was so much the spitting image of Luna that he didn’t want to think of the implications of his father’s statement. The truth was that Lucius had never been the same after the war and Draco was ok to let him have his harmless beliefs. His mother and Molly doted the children with the pure love of grandmothers. He hadn’t been that surprised of his parents acceptance, at the end the Malfoys had valued family above all.  
And what a family he had, Draco thought.

He looked around and counted his blessings. Theo was standing close to the platform, a little child dangling from his hips. His friend, who had come to see Jack and Wendy off to Hogwarts, was soon to be married to Tam. He had met the younger Hufflepuff artist again at Saint Mungo’s, where Tam sometimes helped with the art therapy sessions. Together they adopter Sam. Sam was a bright little boy who’s biological mother was a single parent that had struggled with depression. She had been one of Theo’s patients and when Sam was nearly three he had lost her to a potion overdose. Surprisingly, it was Harry that had help Theo overcome the grief. Harry was no stranger to struggling with his own guilt and had learnt that not everybody could be saved. They had come to care a lot for each other, over the years. Even without counting their similar appearance, Harry filled in where Theo’s brother was missing. Working often closely together, Draco knew they understood one other, sometimes even better than he and Harry did. But that was ok. He too, on occasions, felt the same way with Granger.  
He met Theo’s eyes and the other man mouthed “Wanker”. Yes, Draco was truly blessed.  
He searched for the rest of his family, and his gaze laid on Jack, hugging his mother with a matching dreamy expression. Luna’s toddlers were pulling at their brother’s trousers for attention.  
Then he move onto Harry, playfully wrapping a Gryffindor scarf around Wendy’s neck, their daughter’s green eyes exasperated. He had his money set on Ravenclaw for both his children, maybe even Slytherin for Wendy, and he knew that Harry’s red and gold heart would survive the blow.  
He looked at his parents, standing stiffly a little apart from the rest of the group, but there anyway.  
At the swarm of heads, mostly terribly ginger, that surrounded his life. And lastly back at his children again. They had reached him and their arms wrapped around his waist, thin faces tilting upwards in a last greeting before boarding the train. He looked into wide pale-blue eyes and green lovely ones and behind the excitement, behind the trepidation, he could sense a bit of fear. With a smile, he kissed his children goodbye and whispered in their ears “It’s going to be ok”.  
And it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I don’t think surrogacy has ever been considered as an option for them having kids, has it?  
> Anyway, it’s a topic that hits close to home! 
> 
> Thanks for reading and sticking with me all this time✌🏼


End file.
